SAM  LAWSON. 


SAM    LAWSON'S 

OLDTOWN 

FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

BY 

HARRIET  BEECHER   STOWE. 

• 

OTitfj  Illustration** 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 
Btomsfoc  p«00,  (Eamfcfoffe. 
1881. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871, 

Bv  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Boston  : 
Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Rand,  A  very,  &•  Co. 


/eg/ 


CONTENTS. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL  ..••••••9 

THE  SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS 95 

THE  MINISTER'S  HOUSEKEEPEB        ......      53 

THE  WIDOW'S  BANDBOX    .  79 

CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONET 103 

"Mis'  ELDEKKIN'S  PITCHER"    .  122 

THE  GHOST  IN  THE  CAP'N  BROWN  HOUSE      ....    139 

COLONEL  EPH'S  SHOE-BUCKLES 160 

THE  BULL-FIGHT         .        .        .        .     •  .        .       .        .        .177 
How  TO  FIGHT  THE  DEVIL  .      "".  190 

LAUGHIN'  IN  MEETIN* 200 

TOM  TOOTHACHE'S  GHOST  STORY 217 

THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE .232 

OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  TALKS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION        .        .        .    248 
A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY 267 


M70880.'* 


ILLUSTEATIONS. 

[The  Drawings  by  F.  O.  C.  Darley,  Augustus  Hoppin,  and  John  J.  Harley.] 


PAGE. 

SAM  LAWSON Frontispiece. 

"DO,   DO,   TELL   US   A   STOEY " 3 

"OLD  CACK  KNEW  HIM  TOO" 20 

"HULDY  CAME  BEHIND,  JIST  CHOKIN*  WITH  LAUGH "     .        .  65 

"I'VE  THROWN  THE  PIG  IN  THE  WELL" 70 

"  AND  GIN  HIM  A  REGULAR  BEAR*S  HUG  "        .        .        .        .  99 

"THEY  DUG  DOWN  ABOUT  FIVE  FEET" 119 

"  GREAT   GOLD    EAGLES    AND    GUINEAS    FLEW   ROUND    THE 

KITCHEN  " 138 

"SHE  STOOD  THERE,  LOOKIN'  RIGHT  AT  CINTHY".        .        .  149 

"HE   WAS    TOOK   WITH    THE   SHINE   O*   THESE    SHOE-BUCKLES "      174 
"HE   BETHOUGHT   HIM   OF   OLD   MUMP'S   GUN".  .  .  .187 

"WAL,  TM  THE  DEVIL,  SEZ  HE" 19? 

''AND  KNOCKED  HIM  HEAD  OVER  HEELS  INTO  THE   BROAD 

AISLE"  .  213 


OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL. 

OME,  Sam,  tell  us  a 
story,"  said  I,  as  Har 
ry  and  I  crept  to  his 
*=»  knees,  in  the  glow 
of  the  bright  evening 
firelight;  while  Aunt 
Lois  was  busily  rat 
tling  the  tea-things, 
and  grandmamma,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  fireplace,  was  quietly  setting  the 
heel  of  a  blue-mixed  yarn  stocking. 

In  those  days  we  had  no  magazines  and  daily  pa 
pers,  each  reeling  off  a  serial  story.     Once  a  week, 


2  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STOEIES. 

"  The  Columbian  Sentinel "  came  from  Boston  with 
its  slender  stock  of  news  and  editorial ;  but  all  the 
multiform  devices  —  pictorial,  narrative,  and  poetical 
—  which  keep  the  mind  of  the  present  generation 
ablaze  with  excitement,  had  not  then  even  an  exist 
ence.  There  was  no  theatre,  no  opera ;  there  were 
in  Oldtown  no  parties  or  balls,  except,  perhaps,  the 
annual  election,  or  Thanksgiving  festival ;  and  when 
winter  came,  and  the  sun  went  down  at  half-past 
four  o'clock,  and  left  the  long,  dark  hours  of  evening 
to  be  provided  for,  the  necessity  of  amusement  be 
came  urgent.  Hence,  in  those  days,  chimney-corner 
story-telling  became  an  art  and  an  accomplishment. 
Society  then  was  full  of  traditions  and  narratives 
which  had  all  the  uncertain  glow  and  shifting  mys 
tery  of  the  firelit  hearth  upon  them.  They  were 
told  to  sympathetic  audiences,  by  the  rising  and  fall 
ing  light  of  the  solemn  embers,  with  the  hearth- 
crickets  filling  up  every  pause.  Then  the  aged  told 
their  stories  to  the  young,  —  tales  of  early  life ;  tales 
of  war  and  adventure,  of  forest-days,  of  Indian  cap 
tivities  and  escapes,  of  bears  and  wild-cats  and  pan 
thers,  of  rattlesnakes,  of  witches  and  wizards,  and 


"  Do,  do.  tell  us  a  story."  —  Page  3. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  3 

strange  and  wonderful  dreams  and  appearances  and 
providences. 

In  those  days  of  early  Massachusetts,  faith  and 
credence  were  in  the  very  air.  Two-thirds  of  New 
England  was  then  dark,  unbroken  forests,  through 
whose  tangled  paths  the  mysterious  winter  wind 
groaned  and  shrieked  and  howled  with  weird  noises 
and  unaccountable  clamors.  Along  the  iron-bound 
shore,  the  stormful  Atlantic  raved  and  thundered, 
and  dashed  its  moaning  waters,  as  if  to  deaden 
and  deafen  any  voice  that  might  tell  of  the  settled 
life  of  the  old  civilized  world,  and  shut  us  forever 
into  the  wilderness.  A  good  story-teller,  in  those 
days,  was  always  sure  of  a  warm  seat  at  the  hearth 
stone,  and  the  delighted  homage  of  children ;  and 
in  all  Oldtown  there  was  no  better  story-teller  than 
Sam  Lawson. 

"  Do,  do,  tell  us  a  story,"  said  Harry,  pressing 
upon  him,  and  opening  very  wide  blue  eyes,  in  which 
undoubting  faith  shone  as  in  a  mirror ;  "  and  let  it 
be  something  strange,  and  different  from  common." 

"  Wai,  I  know  lots  o'  strange  things,"  said  Sam, 
looking  mysteriously  into  the  fire.  "Why,  I  know 


*  OTDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

things,  that  ef  I  should  tell,  —  why,  people  might  sa^ 
they  wa'n't  so  ;  but  then  they  is  so  for  all  that." 

"  Oh,  do,  do,  tell  us !  " 

"  Why,  I  should  scare  ye  to  death,  mebbe,"  said 
Sim  doubtingly. 

"  Oh,  pooh !  no,  you  wouldn't,"  we  both  burst  out 
at  once. 

But  Sam  was  possessed  by  a  reticent  spirit,  and 
loved  dearly  to  be  wooed  and  importuned ;  and  so 
he  only  took  up  the  great  kitchen-tongs,  and  smote 
on  the  hickory  forestick,  when  it  flew  apart  in  the 
middle,  and  scattered  a  shower  of  clear  bright  coals 
all  over  the  hearth. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Sam  Lawson  ! "  said  Aunt  Lois  in 
an  indignant  voice,  spinning  round  from  her  dish 
washing. 

"Don't  you  worry  a  grain,  Miss  Lois,"  said  Sam 
composedly.  "I  see  that  are  stick  was  e'en  a'most 
in  two,  and  I  thought  I'd  jest  settle  it.  I'll  sweep 
up  the  coals  now,"  he  added,  vigorously  applying 
a  turkey-wing  to  the  purpose,  as  he  knelt  on  the 
hearth,  his  spare,  lean  figure  glowing  in  the  blaze 
of  the  firelight,  and  getting  quite  flushed  with  ex 
ertion. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  5 

"  There,  now  ! "  he  said,  when  he  had  brushed  over 
and  under  and  between  the  fire-irons,  and  pursued 
the  retreating  ashes  so  far  into  the  red,  fiery  citadel, 
that  his  finger-ends  were  burning  and  tingling,  "that, 
are's  done  now  as  well  as  Hepsy  herself  could  'a' 
done  it.  I  allers  sweeps  up  the  haarth  :  I  think  it's 
part  o'  the  man's  bisness  when  he  makes  the  fire. 
But  Hepsy's  so  used  to  seein'  me  a-doin'  on't,  that 
she  don't  see  no  kind  o'  merit  in't.  It's  just  as 
Parson  Lothrop  said  in  his  sermon,  —  folks  allers 
overlook  their  common  marcies  "  — 

"  But  come,  Sam,  that  story,"  said  Harry  and  I 
coaxingly,  pressing  upon  him,  and  pulling  him  down 
into  his  seat  in  the  corner. 

"  Lordy  massy,  these  'ere  young  uns  !  "  said  Sam. 
"  There's  never  no  contentin'  on  'em :  ye  tell  'em 
one  story,  and  they  jest  swallows  it  as  a  dog  does 
a  gob  o''meat;  and  they're  all  ready  for  another. 
What  do  ye  want  to  hear  now  ?  " 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  Sam's  stories  had  been  told 
us  so  often,  that  they  were  all  arranged  and  ticketed 
in  our  minds.  We  knew  every  word  in  them,  and 
could  set  him  right  if  he  varied  a  hair  from  the 


6  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

usual  track;  and  still  the  interest  in  them  was  un 
abated.  Still  we  shivered,  and  clung  to  his  knee,  at 
the  mysterious  parts,  and  felt  gentle,  cold  chills  run 
down  our  spines  at  appropriate  places.  We  were 
always  in  the  most  receptive  and  sympathetic  con 
dition.  To-night,  in  particular,  was  one  of  those 
thundering  stormy  ones,  when  the  winds  appeared 
to  be  holding  a  perfect  mad  carnival  over  my  grand 
father's  house.  They  yelled  and  squealed  round  the 
corners  ;  they  collected  in  troops,  and  came  tum 
bling  and  roaring  down  chimney ;  they  shook  and 
rattled  the  buttery-door  and  the  sinkroom-door 
and  the  cellar-door  and  the  chamber-door,  with  a 
constant  undertone  of  squeak  and  clatter,  as  if  at 
every  door  were  a  cold,  discontented  spirit,  tired  of 
the  chill  outside,  and  longing  for  the  warmth  and 
comfort  within. 

"  Wai,  boys,"  said  Sam  confidentially,  "  what'll 
ye  have  ?  " 

"  Tell  us  '  Come  down,  come  down  ! '  "  we  both 
shouted  with  one  voice.  This  was,  in  our  mind,  an 
"  A  No.  1 "  among  Sam's  stories. 

"Ye  mus'n't  be  frightened  now,"  said  Sam  pa 
ternally. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  7 

"  Oh,  no !  we  ar'n't  frightened  ever"  said  we  both 
in  one  breath. 

"  Not  when  ye  go  down  the  cellar  arter  cider  ?  " 
said  Sam  with  severe  scrutiny.  "  Ef  ye  should  be 
down  cellar,  and  the  candle  should  go  out,  now  ?  " 

"  I  ain't,"  said  I :  "I  ain't  afraid  of  any  thing.  I 
never  knew  wtwt  it  was  to  be  afraid  in  my  life." 

"  Wai,  then,"  said  Sam,  "I'll  tell  ye.  This  'ere's 
what  Cap'n  Eb  Sawin  told  me  when  I  was  a  boy 
about  your  bigness,  I  reckon. 

"  Cap'n  Eb  Sawin  was  a  most  respectable  man. 
Your  gran'ther  knew  him  very  well ;  and  he  was  a 
deacon  in  the  church  in  Dedham  afore  he  died.  He 
was  at  Lexington  when  the  fust  gun  was  fired  agin 
the  British.  He  was  a  dreffle  smart  man,  Cap'n  Eb 
was,  and  driv  team  a  good  many  years  atween  here 
and  Boston.  He  married  Lois  Peabody,  that  was 
cousin  to  your  gran'ther  then.  Lois  was  xa  rael 
sensible  woman  ;  and  I've  heard  her  tell  the  story 
as  he  told  her,  and  it  was  jest  as  he  told  it  to  me,  — 
jest  exactly  ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  it  if  I  live  to 
be  nine  hundred  years  old,  like  Mathuselah. 

%t  Ye  see,  along  back  in  them  times,  there  used  to 


8  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

be  a  fellow  come  round  these  'ere  parts,  spring  and 
fall,  a-peddlin'  goods,  with  his  pack  on  his  back ;  and 
his  name  was  Jehiel  Lommedieu.  Nobody  rightly 
knew  where  he  come  from.  He  wasn't  much  of  a 
talker;  but  the  women  rather  liked  him,  and  kind 
o'  liked  to  have  him  round.  Women  will  like  some 
fellows,  when  men  can't  see  no  sort  o'  reason  why 
they  should ;  and  they  liked  this  'ere  Lommedieu, 
though  he  was  kind  o'  mournful  and  thin  and  shad- 
nellied,  and  hadn't  nothin'  to  say  for  himself.  But 
It  got  to  be  so,  that  the  women  would  count  and 
calculate  so  many  weeks  afore  'twas  time  for  Lom 
medieu  to  be  along  ;  and  they'd  make  up  ginger- 
snaps  and  preserves  and  pies,  and  make  him  stay 
to  tea  at  the  houses,  and  feed  him  up  on  the  best 
there  was :  and  the  story  went  round,  that  he  was 
a-courtin*  Phebe  Ann  Parker,  or  Phebe  Ann  was 
a-courtin'  him,  —  folks  didn't  rightly  know  which. 
Wai,  all  of  a  sudden,  Lommedieu  stopped  comin' 
round  ;  and  nobody  knew  why,  —  only  jest  he  didn't 
come.  It  turned  out  that  Phebe  Ann  Parker  had 
got  a  letter  from  him,  sayin'  he'd  be  along  afore 
Thanksgiving ;  but  he  didn't  come,  neither  afore 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  9 

nor  at  Thanksgiving  time,  nor  arter,  nor  next  spring : 
and  finally  the  women  they  gin  up  lookin'  for  him. 
Some  said  he  was  dead ;  some  said  he  was  gone  to 
Canada  ;  and  some  said  he  hed  gone  over  to  the  Old 
Country. 

"  Wai,  as  to  Phebe  Ann,  she  acted  like  a  gal  o' 
sense,  and  married  'Bijah  Moss,  and  thought  no  more 
'bout  it.  She  took  the  right  view  on't,  and  said  she 
was  sartin  that  all  things  was  ordered  out  for  the 
best ;  and  it  was  jest  as  well  folks  couldn't  always 
have  their  own  way.  And  so,  in  time,  Lommedieu 
was  gone  out  o'  folks's  minds,  much  as  a  last  year's 
apple-blossom. 

"  It's  relly  affectin'  to  think  how  little  these  'ere 
folks  is  missed  that's  so  much  sot  by.  There  ain't 
nobody,  ef  they's  ever  so  important,  but  what  thr 
world  gets  to  goin'  on  without  'em,  pretty  much  ai1. 
it  did  with  'em,  though  there's  some  little  flurrj 
at  fust.  Wai,  the  last  thing  that  was  in  anybody's 
mind  was,  that  they  ever  should  hear  from  Lom 
medieu  agin.  But  there  ain't  nothin'  but  what  has 
its  time  o'  turnin'  up ;  and  it  seems  his  turn  was  to 
come. 


10  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  'twas  the  19th  o'  March,  when 
Cap'n  Eb  Sawin  started  with  a  team  for  Bos 
ton.  That  day,  there  come  on  about  the  biggest 
snow-storm  that  there 'd  been  in  them  parts  sence 
the  oldest  man  could  remember.  'Twas  this  'ere  fine, 
siftin1  snow,  that  drives  in  your  face  like  needles, 
with  a  wind  to  cut  your  nose  off :  it  made  teamin' 
pretty  tedious  work.  Cap'n  Eb  was  about  the  tough 
est  man  in  them  parts.  He'd  spent  days  in  the 
woods  -a-loggin',  and  he'd  been  up  to  the  deestrict 
o'  Maine  a-luniberin',  and  was  about  up  to  any  sort  o' 
thing  a  man  gen'ally  could  be  up  to  ;  but  these  'ere 
March  winds  sometimes  does  set  on  a  fellow  so,  that 
neither  natur'  nor  grace  can  stan'  'em.  The  cap'n 
used  to  say  he  could  stan'  any  wind  that  blew  one 
way  't  time  for  five  minutes ;  but  come  to  winds  that 
blew  all  four  p'ints  at  the  same  minit,  —  why,  they 
flustered  him. 

"  Wai,  that  was  the  sort  o'  weather  it  was  all  day : 
and  by  sundown  Cap'n  Eb  he  got  clean  bewildered, 
so  that  he  lost  his  road ;  and,  when  night  came  on, 
he  didn't  know  nothin'  where  he  was.  Ye  see  the 
country  was  all  under  drift,  and  the  air  so  thick  with 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  11 

snow,  that  he  couldn't  see  a  foot  afore  him  ;  and  the 
fact  was,  he  got  off  the  Boston  road  without  knowin* 
it,  and  came  out  at  a  pair  o'  bars  nigh  upon  Sherburn, 
where  old  Cack  Sparrock's  mill  is. 

"  Your  gran'ther  used  to  know  old  Cack,  boys. 
He  was  a  drefful  drinkin'  old  crittur,  that  lived  there 
all  alone  in  the  woods  by  himself  a-tendin'  saw  and 
grist  mill.  He  wa'n't  allers  jest  what  he  was  then. 
Time  was  that  Cack  was  a  pretty  consid'ably  likely 
young  man,  and  his  wife  was  a  very  respectable 
woman,  —  Deacon  Amos  Petengall's  dater  from 
Sherburn. 

"  But  ye  see,  the  year  arter  his  wife  died,  Cack  he 
gin  up  goin'  to  meetin'  Sundays,  and,  all  the  tithing- 
men  and  selectmen  could  do,  they  couldn't  get  him 
out  to  meetin' ;  and,  when  a  man  neglects  means  o' 
grace  and  sanctuary  privileges,  there  ain't  no  sayin' 
what  he'll  do  next.  Why,  boys,  jist  think  on't !  — 
an  immortal  crittur  lyin'  round  loose  all  day  Sunday, 
and  not  puttin'  on  so  much  as  a  clean  shirt,  when 
all  'spectable  folks  has  on  their  best  close,  and  is  to 
meetin'  worshippin'  the  Lord  !  What  can  you  spect 
to  come' of  it,  when  he  lies  idlin'  round  in  his  old 


12  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

week-day  close,  fishing,  or  some  sich,  but  what  the 
Devil  should  be  arter  him  at  last,  as  he  was  arter 
oldCack?" 

Here  Sam  winked  impressively  to  my  grandfather 
in  the  opposite  corner,  to  call  his  attention  to  the 
moral  which  he  was  interweaving  with  his  narrative. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  Cap'n  Eb  he  told  me,  that  when  he 
come  to  them  bars  and  looked  up,  and  saw  the  dark 
a-comin'  down,  and  the  storm  a-thickenin'  up,  he  felt 
that  things  was  gettin'  pretty  consid'able  serious. 
There  was  a  dark  piece  o'  woods  on  ahead  of  him  in 
side  the  bars  ;  and  he  knew,  come  to  get  in  there,  the 
light  would  give  out  clean.  So  he  jest  thought  he'd 
take  the  hoss  out  o'  the  team,  and  go  ahead  a  little, 
and  see  where  he  was.  So  he  driv  his  oxen  up  ag'in 
the  fence,  and  took  out  the  hoss,  and  got  on  him,  and 
pushed  along  through  the  woods,  not  rightly  knowin' 
where  he  was  goin'. 

"  Wai,  afore  long  he  see  a  light  through  the  trees ; 
and,  sure  enough,  he  come  out  to  Cack  Sparrock's  old 
mill. 

"  It  was  a  pretty  consid'able  gloomy  sort  of  a  place, 
that  are  old  mill  was.  There  was  a  great  fall  of  wa- 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  13 

ter  that  come  rushin'  down  the  rocks,  and  fell  in  a 
deep  pool ;  and  it  sounded  sort  o'  wild  and  lonesome  : 
but  Cap'n  Eb  he  knocked  on  the  door  with  his  whip- 
handle,  and  got  in. 

"  There,  to  be  sure,  sot  old  Cack  beside  a  great 
blazin'  fire,  with  his  rum-jug  at  his  elbow.  He  was  a 
drefful  fellow  to  drink,  Cack  was  !  For  all  that,  there 
was  some  good  in  him,  for  he  was  pleasant-spoken  and 
'bliging  ;  and  he  made  the  cap'n  welcome. 

" '  Ye  see,  Cack,'  said  Cap'n  Eb, <  I  'm  off  my  road, 
and  got  snowed  up  down  by  your  bars,'  says  he. 

" '  Want  ter  know ! '  says  Cack.  '  Calculate  you'll 
jest  have  to  camp  down  here  till  mornin','  says  he. 

"  Wai,  so  old  Cack  he  got  out  his  tin  lantern,  and 
went  with  Cap'n  Eb  back  to  the  bars  to  help  him 
fetch  along  his  critturs.  He  told  him  he  could  put  'em 
under  the  mill-shed.  So  they  got  the  critturs  up  to 
the  shed,  and  got  the  cart  under ;  and  by  that  time 
the  storm  was  awful. 

"  But  Cack  he  made  a  great  roarin'  fire,  'cause,  ye 
see,  Cack  allers  had  slab- wood  a  plenty  from  his  mill ; 
and  a  roarin'  fire  is  jest  so  much  company.  It  sort  o' 
keeps  a  fellow's  spirits  up,  a  good  fire  does.  So  Cack 


14-  OLDTOTVlSr  FIRESIDE   STOUT  ES. 

he  sot  on  his  old  teakettle,  and  made  a  swingeing  lot 
o'  toddy  ;  and  he  and  Cap'n  Eb  were  havin'  a  tol'able 
comfortable  time  there.  Cack  was  a  pretty  good 
hand  to  tell  stories ;  and  Cap'n  Eb  warn't  no  way  back 
ward  in  that  line,  and  kep'  up  his  end  pretty  well : 
and  pretty  soon  they  was  a-roarin'  and  haw-hawin: 
inside  about  as  loud  as  the  storm  outside ;  when  all  of 
a  sudden,  'bout  midnight,  there  come  a  loud  rap  on 
the  door. 

"  '  Lordy  massy  !  what's  that  ? '  says  Cack.  Folks 
is  rather  startled  allers  to  be  checked  up  sudden  when 
they  are  a-carryin'  on  and  laughin';  and  it  was  such 
an  awful  blowy  night,  it  was  a  little  scary  to  have  a 
rap  on  the  door. 

"  Wai,  they  waited  a  minit,  and  didn't  hear  nothin' 
but  the  wind  a-screechin'  round  the  chimbley ;  and 
old  Cack  was  jest  goin'  on  with  his  story,  when  the 
rap  come  ag'in,  harder'n  ever,  as  if  it'd  shook  the 
door  open. 

"  '  Wai,'  says  old  Cack,  « if  'tis  the  Devil,  we'd 
jest  as  good's  open,  and  have  it  out  with  him  to  onst,' 
says  he  ;  and  so  he  got  up  and  opened  the  door,  and, 
sure  enough,  there  was  old  Ketury  there.  Expect 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  15 

you've  heard  your  grandma  tell  about  old  Ketury. 
She  used  to  come  to  meetings  sometimes,  and  her  hus 
band  was  one  o'  the  prayin'  Indians ;  but  Ketury  was 
one  of  the  rael  wild  sort,  and  you  couldn't  no  more 
convert  her  than  you  could  convert  a  wild-cat  or  a 
painter  [panther].  Lordy  massy!  Ketury  used  to 
come  to  meetin',  and  sit  there  on  them  Indian  benches ; 
and  when  the  second  bell  was  a-tollin',  and  when  Par 
son  Lothrop  and  his  wife  was  comin'  up  the  broad 
aisle,  and  everybody  in  the  house  ris'  up  and  stood, 
Ketury  would  sit  there,  and  look  at  'em  out  o'  the  cor 
ner  o'  her  eyes ;  and  folks  used  to  say  she  rattled  them 
necklaces  o'  rattlesnakes'  tails  and  wild-cat  teeth,  and 
sich  like  heathen  trumpery,  and  looked  for  all  the 
world  as  if  the  spirit  of  the  old  Sarpent  himself  was 
in  her.  I've  seen  her  sit  and  look  at  Lady  Lothrop 
out  o'  the  corner  o'  her  eyes ;  and  her  old  brown  baggy 
neck  would  kind  o'  twist  and  work ;  and  her  eyes  they 
looked  so,  that  'twas  enough  to  scare  a  body.  For 
all  the  world,  she  looked  jest  as  if  she  was  a-workin' 
up  to  spring  at  her.  Lady  Lothrop  was  jest  as  kind 
to  Ketury  as  she  always  was  to  every  poor  crittur. 
She'd  bow  and  smile  as  gracious  to  her  when  meetin' 


16  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

was  over,  and  she  come  down  the  aisle,  passin'  out  o, 
meetin' ;  but  Ketury  never  took  no  notice.  Ye  see, 
Ketury's  father  was  one  o'  them  great  powwows  down 
to  Martha's  Vineyard ;  and  people  used  to  say  she  was 
set  apart,  when  she  was  a  child,  to  the  sarvice  o'  the 
Devil :  any  way,  she  never  could  be  made  nothin'  of 
in  a  Christian  way.  She  come  down  to  Parson 
Lothrop's  study  once  or  twice  to  be  catechised  ;  but 
he  couldn't  get  a  word  out  o'  her,  and  she  kind  o' 
seemed  to  sit  scornful  while  he  was  a-talkin'.  Folks 
said,  if  it  was  in  old  times,  Ketury  wouldn't  have  been 
allowed  to  go  on  so ;  but  Parson  Lothrop's  so  sort 
o'  mild,  he  let  her  take  pretty  much  her  own  way. 
Everybody  thought  that  Ketury  was  a  witch :  at  least, 
she  knew  consid'able  more'n  she  ought  to  know,  and 
so  they  was  kind  o'  'fraid  on  her.  Cap'n  Eb  says  he 
never  see  a  fellow  seem  scareder  than  Cack  did  when* 
he  see  Ketury  a-standin'  there. 

"  Why,  ye  see,  boys,  she  was  as  withered  and  wrin 
kled  and  brown  as  an  old  frosted  punkin-vine ;  and  her 
little  snaky  eyes  sparkled  and  snapped,  and  it  made 
yer  head  kind  o'  dizzy  to  look  at  'em ;  and  folks  used 
to  say  that  anybody  that  Ketury  got  mad  at  was 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  17 

sure  to  get  the  worst  of  it  fust  or  last.  And  so,  no 
matter  what  day  or  hour  Ketury  had  a  mind  to  rap  at 
anybody's  door,  folks  genlly  thought  it  was  best  to 
let  her  in ;  but  then,  they  never  thought  her  coming 
was  for  any  good,  for  she  was  just  like  the  wind, — she 
came  when  the  fit  was  on  her,  she  staid  jest  so  long 
as  it  pleased  her,  and  went  when  she  got  ready,  and 
not  before.  Ketury  understood  English,  and  could 
talk  it  well  enough,  but  always  seemed  to  scorn  it, 
and  was  allers  mowin'  and  mutterin'  to  herself  in  In 
dian,  and  winkin'  and  blinkin'  as  if  she  saw  more 
folks  round  than  you  did,  so  that  she  wa'n't  no  way 
pleasant  company  ;  and  yet  everybody  took  good  care 
to  be  polite  to  her. 

So  old  Cack  asked  her  to  come  in,  and  didn't  make 
no  question  where  she  come  from,  or  what  she  come 
on ;  but  he  knew  it  was  twelve  good  miles  from  where 
she  lived  to  his  hut,  and  the  snow  was  drifted  above 
her  middle  :  and  Cap'n  Eb  declared  that  there  wa'n't 
no  track,  nor  sign  o'  a  track,  of  anybody's  coming 
tlirough  that  snow  next  morning." 

"  How  did  she  get  there,  then  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Didn't  ye  never  see  brown  leaves  a-ridin'  on  the 

2* 


18  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STOKIES. 

wind  ?  Well,'  Cap'n  Eb  he  says,  '  she  came  on  the 
wind,'  and  I'm  sure  it  was  strong  enough  to  fetch  her. 
But  Cack  he  got  her  down  into  the  warm  corner, 
and  he  poured  her  out  a  mug  o'  hot  toddy,  and  give 
her:  but  ye  see  her  bein'  there  sort  o'  stopped  the 
conversation  ;  for  she  sot  there  a-rockin'  back'ards  and 
for'ards,  a-sippin  her  toddy,  and  a-mutterin',  and 
lookin'  up  chimbley. 

"  Cap'n  Eb  says  in  all  his  born  days  he  never  hearn 
such  screeches  and  yells  as  the  wind  give  over  that 
chimbley  ;  and  old  Cack  got  so  frightened,  you  could 
fairly  hear  his  teeth  chatter. 

"  But  Cap'n  Eb  he  was  a  putty  brave  man,  and  he 
wa'n't  goin'  to  have  conversation  stopped  by  no  wo 
man,  witch  or  no  witch  ;  and  so,  when  he  see  her  mut- 
terin',  and  lookin'  up  chimbley,  he  spoke  up,  and  says 
he,  c  Well,  Ketury,  what  do  you  see  ? '  says  he. 
'  Come,  out  with  it ;  don't  keep  it  to  yourself.'  Ye  see 
Cap'n  Eb  was  a  hearty  fellow,  and  then  he  was  a 
betie  warmed  up  with  the  toddy. 

"  Then  he  said  he  see  an  evil  kind  o'  smile  on  Ke- 
tury's  face,  and  she  rattled  her  necklace  o'  bones  and 
snakes'  tails ;  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  snap ;  and  she 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  19 

looked  up  the  chimbley,  and  called  out, '  Come  down, 
come  down  !  let 's  see  who  ye  be/ 

"  Then  there  was  a  scratchin'  and  a  rumblin'  and 
a  groan ;  and  a  pair  of  feet  come  down  the  chimbley, 
and  stood  right  in  the  middle  of  the  haarth,  the  toes 
pi'ntin'  out'rds,  with  shoes  and  silver  buckles  a-shin- 
in'  in  the  firelight.  Cap'n  Eb  says  he  never  come 
so  near  bein'  scared  in  his  life  ;  and,  as  to  old  Cack, 
he  jest  wilted  right  down  in  his  chair. 

"  Then  old  Ketury  got  up,  and  reached  her  stick  up 
chimbley,  and  called  out  louder,  l  Come  down,  come 
down  !  let's  see  who  ye  be.'  And,  sure  enough,  down 
came  a  pair  o'  legs,  and  j'ined  right  on  to  the  feet : 
good  fair  legs  they  was,  with  ribbed  stockings  and 
leather  breeches. 

"  4  Wai,  we're  in  for  it  now,'  says  Cap'n  Eb.  '  Go 
it,  Ketury,  and  let's  have  the  rest  on  him.' 

"  Ketury  didn't  seem  to  mind  him  :  she  stood  there 
as  stiff  as  a  stake,  and  kep'  callin'  out,  '  Come  down, 
come  down  !  let's  see  who  ye  be.'  And  then  come 
down  the  body  of  a  man  with  a  brown  coat  and  yellow 
vest,  and  j'ined  right  on  to  the  legs ;  but  there  wa'n't 
no  arms  to  it.  Then  Ketury  shook  her  stick  up  chim- 


20  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

bley,  and  called, 4  Come  down,  come  down  ! '  And  there 
came  down  a  pair  o'  arms,  and  went  on  each  side  o' 
the  body ;  and  there  stood  a  man  all  finished,  only 
there  wa'n't  no  head  on  him. 

"  4  Wai,  Ketury,'  says  Cap'n  Eb, '  this  'ere's  getting 
serious.  I  'spec'  you  must  finish  him  up,  and  let's 
Bee  what  he  wants  of  us.' 

"  Then  Ketury  called  out  once  more,  louder'n  ever, 
4  Come  down,  come  down !  let's  see  who  ye  be.'  And, 
sure  enough,  down  comes  a  man's  head,  and  settled 
on  the  shoulders  straight  enough ;  and  Cap'n  Eb,  the 
minit  he  sot  eyes  on  him,  knew  he  was  Jehiel  Lom- 
medieu. 

"  Old  Cack  knew  him  too ;  and  he  fell  flat  on  his  face, 
and  prayed  the  Lord  to  have  mercy  on  his  soul :  but 
Cap'n  Eb  he  was  for  gettin'  to  the  bottom  of  matters, 
and  not  have  his  scare  for  nothin' ;  so  he  says  to  him, 
4  What  do  you  want,  now  you  hev  come  ?  ' 

"  The  man  he  didn't  speak ;  he  only  sort  o'  moaned, 
and  p'inted  to  the  chimbley.  He  seemed  to  try  to 
speak,  but  couldn't ;  for  ye  see  it  isn't  often  that  his 
sort  o'  folks  is  permitted  to  speak  :  but  just  then 
there  came  a  screechin'  blast  o'  wind,  and  blowed  the 


*' Old Cack  knew  him  too"  —  Page  20. 


THE   GHOST   IN   THE   MILL.  21 

door  open,  and  bio  wed  the  smoke  and  fire  all  out 
into  the  room,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  whirlwind  and 
darkness  and  moans  and  screeches  ;  and,  when  it  all 
cleared  up,  Ketury  and  the  man  was  both  gone,  and 
only  old  Cack  lay  on  the  ground,  rolling  and  moaning 
as  if  he'd  die. 

"  Wai,  Cap'n  Eb  he  picked  him  up,  and  built  up 
the  fire,  and  sort  o'  comforted  him  up,  'cause  the  crit- 
tur  was  in  distress  o'  mind  that  was  drefful.  The 
awful  Providence,  ye  see,  had  awakened  him,  and  his 
sin  had  been  set  home  to  his  soul ;  and  he  was  under 
such  conviction,  that  it  all  had  to  come  out,  —  how 
old  Cack's  father  had  murdered  poor  Lommedieu  for 
his  money,  and  Cack  had  been  privy  to  it,  and  helped 
his  father  build  the  body  up  in  that  very  chimbley  ; 
and  he  said  that  he  hadn't  had  neither  peace  nor  rest 
since  then,  and  that  was  what  had  driv'  him  away 
from  ordinances  ;  for  ye  know  sinnin'  will  always 
make  a  man  leave  prayin'.  Wai,  Cack  didn't  live 
but  a  day  or  two.  Cap'n  Eb  he  got  the  minister  o' 
Sherburn  and  one  o'  the  selectmen  down  to  see  him  ; 
and  they  took  his  deposition.  He  seemed  railly  quite 
penitent ;  and  Parson  Carryl  he  prayed  with  him,  and 


22  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

was  faithful  in  settin'  home  the  providence  to  his 
soul :  and  so,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  poor  old  Cack  might 
have  got  in  ;  at  least  it  looks  a  leetle  like  it.  He  was 
distressed  to  think  he  couldn't  live  to  be  hung.  He 
sort  o'  seemed  to  think,  that  if  he  was  fairly  tried,  and 
hung,  it  would  make  it  all  square.  He  made  Parson 
Carryl  promise  to  have  the  old  mill  pulled  down,  and 
bury  the  body  ;  and,  after  he  was  dead,  they  did  it. 

"  Cap'n  Eb  he  was  one  of  a  party  o'  eight  that 
pulled  down  the  chimbley ;  and  there,  sure  enough, 
was  the  skeleton  of  poor  Lommedieu. 

u  So  there  you  see,  boys,  there  can't  be  no  iniquity 
so  hid  but  what  it'll  come  out.  The  wild  Indians  of 
the  forest,  and  the  stormy  winds  and  tempests,  j'ined 
together  to  bring  out  this  'ere." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Aunt  Lois  sharply,  "  I  never 
believed  that  story." 

"  Why,  Lois,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  Cap'n  Eb 
Sawin  was  a  regular  church-member,  and  a  most  re 
spectable  man." 

"  Law,  mother !  I  don't  doubt  he  thought  so.  I 
t.uppose  he  and  Cack  got  drinking  toddy  together,  till 
he  got  asleep,  and  dreamed  it.  I  wouldn't  believe 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  MILL.  23 

such  a  thing  if  it  did  happen  right  before  my  face 
and  eyes.  I  should  only  think  I  was  crazy,  that's  all." 

"  Come,  Lois,  if  I  was  you,  I  wouldn't  talk  so  like 
a  Sadducee,"  said  my  grandmother.  "  What  would 
become  of  all  the  accounts  in  Dr.  Cotton  Mather's 
;  Magnilly  '  if  folks  were  like  you  ?  " 

44  Wai,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  drooping  contemplatively 
over  the  coals,  and  gazing  into  the  fire.  "  there's  a 
putty  consid'able  sight  o'  things  in  this  world  that's 
true  ;  and  then  ag'in  there's  a  sight  o'  things  that 
ain't  true.  Now,  my  old  gran'ther  used  to  say,  '  Boys, 
says  he,  4  if  ye  want  to  lead  a  pleasant  and  prosperous 
life,  ye  must  contrive  allers  to  keep  jest  the  happy 
medium  between  truth  and  falsehood.'  Now,  that 
are's  my  doctrine." 

Aunt  Lois  Knit  severely. 

44  Boys,"  said  Sam,  44  don't  you  want  ter  go  down 
with  me  and  get  a  mug  o'  cider  ?  " 

Of  course  we  did,  and  took  down  a  basket  to  bring 
up  some  apples  to  roast. 

44  Boys,"  says  Sam  mysteriously,  while  he  was 
drawing  the  cider,  44  you  jest  ask  your  Aunt  Lois  tc 
tell  you  what  she  knows  'bout  Ruth  Sullivan." 


24 


OLDTOWN    FIRESIDE   STORIES. 


"  Why,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you  must  ask  her.  These  'ere  folks  that's  so 
kind  o'  toppin'  about  sperits  and  sich,  come  sift  'em 
down,  you  gen'lly  find  they  knows  one  story  that  kind 
o'  puzzles  'em.  Now  you  mind,  and  jist  ask  youi 
Aunt  Lois  about  Ruth  Sullivan." 


THE  SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS. 


UNT  LOIS,"  said  I, "  what  was  that 
story  about  Ruth  Sullivan  ?  " 

Aunt  Lois's  quick  black  eyes  gave 
a  surprised  flash ;  and  she  and  my 
grandmother  looked  at  each  other 
a  minute  significantly. 

"  Who  told  you  any  thing    about 
Ruth  Sullivan,"  she  said  sharply. 

"  Nobody.  Somebody  said  you  knew  something 
about  her,"  said  I. 

I  was  holding  a  skein  of  yarn  for  Aunt  Lois ; 
and  she  went  on  winding  in  silence,  putting  the  ball 
through  loops  and  tangled  places. 

"Little  boys  shouldn't  ask  questions,"  she  con 
cluded  at  last  sententiously.  "  Little  boys  that  ask 
too  many  questions  get  sent  to  bed." 

3  .  25 


26  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES 

I  knew  that  of  old,  and  rather  wondered  at  my 
own  hardihood. 

Aunt  Lois  wound  on  in  silence ;  but,  looking  in  her 
face,  I  could  see  plainly  that  I  had  started  an 
exciting  topic. 

"  I  should  think,"  pursued  my  grandmother  in  hei 
corner,  "  that  Ruth's  case  might  show  you,  Lois,  that 
a  good  many  things  may  happen,  —  more  than  you 
believe." 

"  Oh,  well,  mother  !  Ruth's  was  a  strange  case ; 
but  I  suppose  there  are  ways  of  accounting  for  it." 

"  You  believed  Ruth,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  I  believed  Ruth  !  Why  shouldn't 
I?  Ruth  was  one  of  my  best  friends,  and  as  true  a 
girl  as  lives  :  there  wasn't  any  nonsense  about  Ruth. 
She  was  one  of  the  sort,"  said  Aunt  Lois  reflectively, 
"  that  I'd  as  soon  trust  as  myself :  when  she  said  a 
thing  was  so  and  so,  I  knew  it  was  so." 

"  Then,  if  you  think  Ruth's  story  was  true,"  pur 
sued  my  grandmother,  "  what's  the  reason  you  are 
always  cavilling  at  things  just  'cause  you  can't  un 
derstand  how  they  came  to  be  so  ?" 

Aunt  Lois  set  her  lips  firmly,  and  wound  with  grim 


THE   SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  27 

resolve.      She  was  the  very  impersonation  of  that  / 
obstinate  rationalism  that  grew  up  at  the  New-Eng-/ 
land  fireside,  close  alongside  of  the  most  undoubtingf 
faith  in  the  supernatural. 

"  I  don't  believe  such  things,"  at  last  she  snapped 
out,  "  and  I  don't  disbelieve  them.  I  just  let  'em 
alone.  What  do  I  know  about  'em  ?  Ruth  tells  me 
a  story  ;  and  I  believe  her.  I  know  what  she  saw 
beforehand,  came  true  in  a  most  remarkable  way. 
Well,  I'm  sure  I've  no  objection.  One  thing  may 
be  true,  or  another,  for  all  me  ;  but,  just  because 
I  believe  Ruth  Sullivan,  I'm  not  going  to  be 
lieve,  right  and  left,  all  the  stories  in  Cotton  Mather, 
and  all  that  anybody  can  hawk  up  to  tell.  Not  I." 

This  whole  conversation  made  me  all  the  more 
curious  to  get  at  the  story  thus  dimly  indicated  ;  and 
so  we  beset  Sam  for  information. 

"  So  your  Aunt  Lois  wouldn't  tell  ye  nothin',"  said 
Sam.  "  Wanter  know,  neow  !  sho  !  " 

"  No  :  she  said  we  must  go  to  bed  if  we  asked  her." 

"  That  'are's  a  way  folks  has ;  but,  ye  see,  boys," 
said  Sam,  while  a  droll  confidential  expression 
crossed  the  lack-lustre  dolefulness  of  his  visage,  u  ye 


28  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

see,  I  put  ye  up  to  it,  'cause  Miss  Lois  is  so  large  and 
commandin'  in  her  ways,  and  so  kind  o'  up  and 
down  in  all  her  doin's,  that  I  like  once  and  a  while  to 
sort  o'  gravel  her ;  and  I  knowed  enough  to  know 
that  that  'are  question  would  git  her  in  a  tight  place. 

"  Ye  see,  yer  Aunt  Lois  was  knowin'  to  all  this  'ere 
about  Ruth,  so  there  wer'n't  no  gettin'  away  from  it ; 
and  it's  about  as  remarkable  a  providence  as  any  o' 
them  of  Mister  Cotton  Marther's  '  Magnilly.'  So  if 
you'll  come  up  in  the  barn-chamber  this  arternoon, 
where  I've  got  a  lot  o'  flax  to  hatchel  out,  I'll  tell 
ye  all  about  it." 

So  that  afternoon  beheld  Sam  arranged  at  full 
length  on  a  pile  of  top-tow  in  the  barn-chamber, 
hatchelling  by  proxy  by  putting  Harry  and  myself  to 
the  service. 

"  Wai,  now,  boys,  it's  kind  o'  refreshing  to  see  how 
wal  ye  take  hold,"  he  observed,  "  Nothin'  like  bein' 
industrious  while  ye'r  young;  gret  sight  bettei 
now  than  loafin  off,  down  in  them  medders. 

"  *  In  books  and  work  and  useful  play 

Let  my  fust  years  be  past : 
So  shall  I  give  for  every  day 
Some  ^ood  account  at  last.'" 


THE   SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  29 

"  But,  Sam,  if  we  work  for  you,  you  must  tell  us 
that  story  about  Ruth  Sullivan." 

"  Lordy  massy  !  yis,  —  course  I  will.  I've  had  the 
best  kind  o'  chances  of  knowin'  all  about  that  'are. 
Wai,  you  see  there  was  old  Gineral  Sullivan,  he  lived 
in  state  and  grande'r  in  the  old  Sullivan  house  out  to 
Roxberry.  I  been  to  Roxberry,  and  seen  that  'are 
house  o'  Gineral  Sullivan's.  There  was  one  time 
that  I  was  a  consid'able  spell  lookin'  round  in  Rox 
berry,  a  kind  o'  seein'  how  things  wuz  there,  and 
whether  or  no  there  mightn't  be  some  sort  o'  provi 
dential  openin'  or  suthin'.  I  used  to  stay  with  Aunt 
Polly  Ginger.  She  was  sister  to  Mehitable  Ginger, 
Gineral  Sullivan's  housekeeper,  and  hed  the  in  and 
out  o'  the  Sullivan  house,  and  kind  o'  kept  the  run  o' 
how  things  went  and  came  in  it.  Polly  she  was  a 
kind  o'  cousin  o'  my  mother's,  and  allers  glad  to  see 
me.  Fact  was,  I  was  putty  handy  round  house ;  and 
she  used  to  save  up  her  broken  things  and  sich  till  I 
come  round  in  the  fall ;  and  then  I'd  mend  'em  up, 
and  put  the  clock  right,  and  split  her  up  a  lot  o'  kin 
dlings,  and  board  up  the  cellar-windows,  and  kind  o' 
make  her  sort  o'  comfortable,  — she  bein'  a  lone  body, 

3* 


30  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STO1IIE3. 

and  no  man  round.  As  I  said,  it  was  sort  o'  conve 
nient  to  hev  me  ;  and  so  I  jest  got  the  run  o'  tilings 
in  the  Sullivan  house  pretty  much  as  ef  I  was  one  on 
'em.  Gineral  Sullivan  he  kept  a  grand  house,  I  tell 
you.  You  see,  he  cum  from  the  old  country,  and  felt 
sort  o'  lordly  and  grand ;  and  they  used  to  hev  the 
gretest  kind  o'  doin's  there  to  the  Sullivan  house. 
Ye  ought  ter  a  seen  that  'are  house,  —  gret  big  front 
hall  and  gret  wide  stairs ;  none  o'  your  steep  kind 
that  breaks  a  feller's  neck  to  get  up  and  down,  but 
gret  broad  stairs  with  easy  risers,  so  they  used  to  say 
3^ou  could  a  cantered  a  pony  up  that  'are  stairway 
easy  as  not.  Then  there  was  gret  wide  rooms,  and 
sofys,  and  curtains,  and  gret  curtained  bedsteads  that 
looked  sort  o'  like  fortifications,  and  pictur's  that 
was  got  in  Italy  and  Rome  and  all  them  'are  heathen 
places.  Ye  see,  the  Gineral  was  a  drefful  worldly 
old  critter,  and  was  all  for  the  pomps  and  the  vani 
ties.  Lordy  massy !  I  wonder  what  the  poor  old 
critter  thinks  about  it  all  now,  when  his  body's  all 
gone  to  dust  and  ashes  in  the  graveyard,  and  his 
soul's  gone  to  'tarnity !  Wai,  that  are  ain't  none  o' 
my  business  ;  only  it  shows  the  vanity  o'  riches  in  a 


THE  SULLIVAN   LOOKING-GLASS.  31 

kind  o'  strikin'  light,  and  makes  me  content  that  1 
never  hed  none." 

"But,  Sam,  I  hope  General  Sullivan  wasn't  a 
wicked  man,  was  he  ?" 

"  Wai,  I  wouldn't  say  he  was  railly  wickeder  than 
the  run  ;  but  he  was  one  o'  these  'ere  high-stepping, 
big-feeling  fellers,  that  seem  to  be  a  hevin'  their  por 
tion  in  this  life.  Drefful  proud  he  was;  and  he  was 
pretty  much  sot  on  this  world,  and  kep'  a  sort  o'  court 
goin'  on  round  him.  Wai,  I  don't  jedge  him  nor  no 
body  :  folks  that  hes  the  world  is  apt  to  get  sot  on  it. 
Don't  none  on  us  do  more  than  middlin'  well." 

"But,  Sam,  what  about  Ruth  Sullivan ?  " 

44  Ruth  ?  —  Oh,  yis  I  —  Ruth  — 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  the  only  crook  in  the  old  Gineral's 
lot  was  he  didn't  hev  no  children.  Mis'  Sullivan,  she 
was  a  beautiful  woman,  as  handsome  as  a  pictur' ; 
but  she  never  had  but  one  child ;  and  he  was  a  son 
who  died  when  he  was  a  baby,  and  about  broke  her 
heart.  And  then  this  'ere  Ruth  was  her  sister's  child, 
that  was  born  about  the  same  time ;  and,  when  the 
boy  died,  they  took  Ruth  home  to  sort  o'  fill  his  place, 
and  kind  o'  comfort  up  Mis'  Sullivan.  And  then 


32  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

Ruth's  father  and  mother  died ;  and  they  adopted 
her  for  their  own,  and  brought  her  up. 

"  Wai,  she  grew  up  to  be  amazin'  handsome.  Why, 
everybody  said  that  she  was  jest  the  light  and  glory 
of  that  'are  old  Sullivan  place,  and  worth  more'n  all 
the  pictur's  and  the  silver  and  the  jewels,  and  all 
there  was  in  the  house  ;  and  she  was  jest  so  innercent 
and  sweet,  that  you  never  see  nothing  to  beat  it. 
Wai,  your  Aunt  Lois  she  got  acquainted  with  Ruth 
one  summer  when  she  was  up  to  Old  Town  a  visitin' 
at  Parson  Lothrop's.  Your  Aunt  Lois  was  a  gal  then, 
and  a  pretty  good-lookin'  one  too  ;  and,  somehow  or 
other,  she  took  to  Ruth,  and  Ruth  took  to  her.  And 
when  Ruth  went  home,  they  used  to  be  a  writin' 
backwards  and  forads  ;  and  I  guess  the  fact  was,  Ruth 
thought  about  as  much  of  your  Aunt  Lois  as  she  did 
o'  anybody.  Ye  see,  your  aunt  was  a  kind  o'  strong 
up-and-down  woman  that  always  knew  certain  jest 
what  she  did  know;  and  Ruth,  she  was  one  o'  them 
gals  that  seems  sort  o'  like  a  stray  lamb  or  a  dove 
that's  sort  o'  lost  their  way  in  the  world,  and  wants 
some  one  to  show  'em  where  to  go  next.  For,  ye  see, 
the  fact  was,  the  old  Gineral  and  Madam,  they  didn't 


THE  SULLIVAN   LOOKING-GLASS.  33 

agree  very  well.  He  wa'n't  well  pleased  that  she 
didn't  have  no  children ;  and  she  was  sort  o'  jealous 
o'  him  'cause  she  got  hold  o'  some  sort  of  story  about 
how  he  was  to  a  married  somebody  else  over  there 
in  England  :  so  she  got  sort  o'  riled  up,  jest  as  wim- 
men  will,  the  best  on  'em ;  and  they  was  pretty  apt 
to  have  spats,  and  one  could  give  t'other  as  good  as 
they  sent ;  and,  by  all  accounts,  they  fit  putty  lively 
sometimes.  And,  between  the  two,  Ruth  she  was 
sort  o'  scared,  and  fluttered  like  a  dove  that  didn't 
know  jest  where  to  settle.  Ye  see,  there  she  was  in 
that  'are  great  wide  house,  where  they  was  a  feastin' 
and  a  prancin'  and  a  dancin',  and  a  goin'  on  like 
Ahashuerus  and  Herodias  and  all  them  old  Scriptur' 
days.  There  was  a  comin'  and  goin,'  and  there  was 
gret  dinners  and  gret  doin's,  but  no  love ;  and,  you 
know,  the  Scriptur'  sajrs,  '  Better  is  a  dinner  o'  yarbs, 
where  love  is,  than  a  stalled  ox,  and  hatred  there 
with.' 

"  Wai,  I  don't  orter  say  hatred,  arter  all.  I  kind  o 
reckon,  the  old  Gineral  did  the  best  he  could  :  the 
fact  is,  when  a  woman  gits  a  kink  in  her  head  agin 
A  man,  the  best  on  us  don't  allers  do  jest  the  right 
thing. 


34  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE    STORIES. 

"  Any  way,  Ruth,  she  was  sort  o'  forlorn,  and  didn't 
seem  to  take  no  comfort  in  the  goin's  on.  The  Gin- 
eral  he  was  mighty  fond  on  her,  and  proud  on 
her  ;  and  there  wa'n't  no  thin'  too  good  for  Ruth.  He 
was  free-handed,  the  Gineral  wuz.  He  dressed  her 
up  in  silks  and  satins,  and  she  hed  a  maid  to  wait 
on  her,  and  she  hed  sets  o'  pearl  and  dimond ;  and 
Madam  Sullivan  she  thought  all  the  world  on  her, 
and  kind  o'  worshipped  the  ground  she  trod  on.  And 
yet  Ruth  was  sort  o'  lonesome. 

"  Ye  see,  Ruth  wa'n't  calculated  for  grande'r. 
Some  folks  ain't. 

"  Why,  that  'are  summer  she  spent  out  to  Old 
Town,  she  was  jest  as  chirk  and  chipper  as  a  wren,  a 
wearin'  her  little  sun-bunnet,  and  goin'  a  huckle- 
berryin'  and  a  black-berryin'  and  diggin'  sweet-  flag, 
and  gettin  cowslops  and  dandelions ;  and  she  hed  a 
word  for  everybody.  And  everybody  liked  Ruth, 
and  wished  her  well.  Wai,  she  was  sent  for  her 
health ;  and  she  got  that,  and  more  too  :  she  got  a 
sweetheart. 

"  Ye  see,  there  was  a  Cap'n  Oliver  a  visitin'  at  the 
minister's  that  summer,  —  a  nice,  handsome  young 


THE  SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  35 

man  as  ever  was.  He  and  Ruth  and  your  Aunt  Lois, 
they  was  together  a  good  deal ;  and  they  was  a  ram- 
blin'  and  a  ridin'  and  a  sailin' :  and  so  Ruth  and  the 
Capting  went  the  way  o'  all  the  airth,  and  fell  dead 
in  love  with  each  other.  Your  Aunt  Lois  she  was 
knowing  to  it  and  all  about  it,  'cause  Ruth  she  was 
jest  one  of  them  that  couldn't  take  a  step  without 
somebody  to  talk  to. 

"  Captain  Oliver  was  of  a  good  family  in  Eng 
land  ;  and  so,  when  he  made  bold  to  ask  the  old 
Gineral  for  Ruth,  he  didn't  say  him  nay  :  and  it  was 
agreed,  as  they  was  young,  they  should  wait  a  yeai 
or  two.  If  he  and  she  was  of  the  same  mind,  he 
should  be  free  to  marry  her.  Jest  right  on  that,  the 
Captain's  regiment  was  ordered  home,  and  he  had  to 
go  ;  and,  the  next  they  heard,  it  was  sent  off  to  India. 
And  poor  little  Ruth  she  kind  o'  drooped  and  pined ; 
but  she  kept  true,  and  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  say 
to  nobody  that  came  arter  her,  for  there  was  lots  and 
cords  o'  fellows  as  did  come  arter  her.  Ye  see,  Ruth 
had  a  takin'  way  with  her ;  and  then  she  had  the 
name  of  bein'  a  great  heiress,  and  that  aJIers  draws 
fellers,  as  molasses  does  flies. 


36  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"Wai,  then  the  news  came,  that  Captain  Oliver 
was  comin'  home  to  England,  and  the  ship  was  took 
by  the  Algerenes,  and  he  was  gone  into  slavery  there 
among  them  heathen  Mahomedans  and  what  not. 

"  Folks  seemed  to  think  it  was  all  over  with  him. 
and  Ruth  might  jest  as  well  give  up  fust  as  last. 
And  the  old  Gineral  he'd  come  to  think  she  might  do 
better ;  and  he  kep'  a  introducin'  one  and  another, 
and  tryin'  to  marry  her  off ;  but  Ruth  she  wouldn't. 
She  used  to  write  sheets  and  sheets  to  your  Aunt 
Lois  about  it ;  and  I  think  Aunt  Lois  she  kep'  her 
grit  up.  Your  Aunt  Lois  she'd  a  stuck  by  a  man  to 
the  end  o'  time  eft  ben  her  case  ;  and  so  she  told 
Ruth. 

"  Wai,  then  there  was  young  Jeff  Sullivan,  the 
Gineral's  nephew,  he  turned  up ;  and  the  Gineral  he 
took  a  gret  fancy  to  him.  He  was  next  heir  to  the 
Gineral ;  but  he'd  ben  a  pretty  rackety  youngster  in 
his  young  days,  — off  to  sea,  and  what  not,  and  sowed 
a  consid'able  crop  o'  wild  oats.  People  said  he'd 
been  a  pirating  off  there  in  South  Ameriky.  Lordy 
massy  !  nobody  rightly  knew  where  he  hed  ben  or 
where  he  hadn't :  all  was,  he  turned  up  at  last  ali 


THE  SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  37 

alive,  and  chipper  as  a  skunk  blackbird.  Wai,  of 
course  he  made  his  court  to  Ruth  ;  and  the  Gineral, 
lie  rather  backed  him  up  in  it ;  but  Ruth  she  wouldn't 
have  nothin'  to  say  to  him.  Wai,  he  come  and  took 
up  his  lodgiu'  at  the  Gineral's ;  and  he  was  jest  as 
slippery  as  an  eel,  and  sort  o'  slid  into  every  thing, 
that  was  a  goin'  on  in  the  house  and  about  it.  He 
was  here,  and  he  was  there,  and  he  was  everywhere, 
and  a  havin'  his  say  about  this  and  that ;  and  he  got 
everybody  putty  much  under  his  thumb.  And  they 
used  to  say,  he  wound  the  Gineral  round  and  round 
like  a  skein  o'  yarn ;  but  he  couldn't  come  it  round 
Ruth. 

"  Wai,  the  Gineral  said  she  shouldn't  be  forced ;  and 
Jeff,  he  was  smooth  as  satin,  and  said  he'd  be  willing 
to  wait  as  long  as  Jacob  did  for  Rachel.  And  so  there 
he  sot  down,  a  watchin'  as  patient  as  a  cat  at  a  mouse- 
hole  ;  'cause  the  Gineral  he  was  thick-set  and  short- 
necked,  and  drank  pretty  free,  and  was  one  o'  the  sort 
that  might  pop  off  any  time. 

"  Wai,  Mis'  Sullivan,  she  beset  the  Gineral  to  make 
a  provision  for  Ruth ;  'cause  she  told  him  very  sensi 
ble,  that  he'd  brought  her  up  in  luxury,  and  that  it 


38  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

wa'n't  fair  not  to  settle  somethin'  on  her ;  and  so  the 
Gineral  he  said  he'd  make  a  will,  and  part  the  prop 
erty  equally  between  them.  And  he  says  to  Jeff,  that, 
if  he  played  his  part  as  a  young  fellow  oughter  know 
how,  it  would  all  come  to  him  in  the  end ;  'cause  they 
hadn't  heard  nothing  from  Captain  Oliver  for  three 
or  four  years,  and  folks  about  settled  it  that  he  musi 
be  dead. 

"  Wai,  the  Gineral  he  got  a  letter  about  an  estate 
that  had  come  to  him  in  England  ;  and  he  had  to  go 
over.  Wai,  livin'  on  the  next  estate,  was  the  very 
cousin  of  the  Gineral's  that  he  was  to  a  married  when 
they  was  both  young :  the  lands  joined  so  that  the 
grounds  run  together.  What  came  between  them 
two  nobody  knows ;  but  she  never  married,  and  there 
she  was.  There  was  high  words  between  the  Gin 
eral  and  Madam  Sullivan  about  his  goin'  over.  She 
said  there  wa'n't  no  sort  o'  need  on't,  and  he  said 
there  was ;  and  she  said  she  hoped  she  should  be  in 
her  grave  afore  he  come  back;  and  he  said  she  might 
suit  herself  about  that  for  all  him.  That  'are  was  the 
story  that  the  housekeeper  told  to  Aunt  Polly ;  and 
Aunt  Polly  she  told  me.  These  'ere  squabbles  some- 


THK   SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  39 

how  allers  does  kind  o'  leak  out  one  way  or  t'other. 
Anyhow,  it  was  a  house  divided  agin  itself  at  the 
Gineral's,  when  he  was  a  fixin'  out  for  the  voyage. 
There  was  Ruth  a  goin'  fust  to  one,  and  then  to  t'other, 
and  tryin'  all  she  could  to  keep  peace  beteen  'em  ;  and 
there  was  this  'ere  Master  Slick  Tongue  talkin'  this 
way  to  one  side,  and  that  way  to  t'other,  and  the  old 
Gineral  kind  o'  like  a  shuttle-cock  atween  'em. 

"Wai,  then,  the  night  afore  he  sailed,  the  Gineral  he 
hed  his  lawyer  up  in  his  library  there,  a  lookin'  over 
all  his  papers  and  bonds  and  things,  and  a  witnessing 
his  will ;  and  Master  Jeff  was  there,  as  lively  as  a 
cricket,  a  goin'  into  all  affairs,  and  offerin'  to  take 
precious  good  care  while  he  was  gone  ;  and  the  Gin 
eral  he  had  his  papers  and  letters  out,  a  sortin'  on 
'em  over,  which  was  to  be  took  to  the  old  country,  and 
which  was  to  be  put  in  a  trunk  to  go  back  to  Lawyer 
Dennis's  office. 

"  Wai,  Abner  Ginger,  Polly's  boy,  he  that  was 
footman  and  waiter  then  at  the  Gineral's,  he  told  me, 
that,  about  eight  o'clock  that  evening  he  went  up  with 
hot  water  and  lemons  and  sperits  and  sich,  and  he  see 
the  gret  green  table  in  the  library  all  strewed  and 


40  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

covered  with  piles  o'  papers  ;  and  there  was  tin  boxes 
a  standin'  round ;  and  the  Gineral  a  packin'  a  trunk, 
and  young  Master  Jeff,  as  lively  and  helpful  as  a  rat 
that  smells  cheese.  And  then  the  Gineral  he  sa}  3, 
*  Abner,'  says  he,  '  can  you  write  your  name  ? '  —  *  I 
should  hope  so,  Gineral.'  says  Abner.  — 4  Wai,  then, 
Abner,'  says  he,  '  this  is  my  last  will ;  and  I  want  you 
to  witness  it,'  and  so  Abner  he  put  down  his  name 
opposite  to  a  place  with  a  wafer  and  a  seal ;  and  then 
the  Gineral,  he  says, '  Abner,  you  tell  Ginger  to  come 
here.'  That,  you  see,  was  his  housekeeper,  my  Aunt 
Polly's  sister,  and  a  likely  woman  as  ever  was.  And 
so  they  had  her  up,  and  she  put  down  her  name  to 
the  will ;  and  then  Aunt  Polly  she  was  had  up  (she 
was  drinking  tea  there  that  night),  and  she  put  down 
her  name.  And  all  of  'em  did  it  with  good  heart, 
'cause  it  had  got  about  among  'em  that  the  will  was 
to  provide  for  Miss  Ruth ;  for  everybody  loved 
Ruth,  ye  see,  and  there  was  consid'ble  many  stories 
kind  o'  goin'  the  rounds  about  Master  Jeff  and  his 
doiu's.  And  they  did  say  he  sort  o'  kep'  up  the  strife 
at  ween  the  Gineral  and  my  lady,  and  so  they  didn't 
think  none  too  well  o'  him  ;  and,  as  he  was  next  o' 


THE   SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  41 

kin,  and  Miss  Ruth  wa'n't  none  o'  the  Chloral's  blood 
(ye  see,  she  was  Mis'  Sullivan's  sister's  child),  of 
course  there  wouldn't  nothin'  go  to  Miss  Ruth  in  way 
o'  law,  and  so  that  was  why  the  signin'  o'  that  'are 
will  was  so  much  talked  about  among  'era." 

"  Wai,  you  see,  the  Gineral  he  sailed  the  next 
day ;  and  Jeff  he  staid  by  to  keep  watch  o'  things. 

u  Wai,  the  old  Gineral  lie  got  over  safe ;  for  Miss 
Sullivan,  she  had  a  letter  from  him  all  right.  When 
he  got  away,  his  conscience  sort  o'  nagged  him,  and 
he  was  minded  to  be  a  good  husband.  At  any  rate,  he 
wrote  a  good  loving  letter  to  her,  and  sent  hL*  love  to 
Ruth,  arid  sent  over  lots  o'  little  keepsakes  and  things 
for  her,  and  told  her  that  he  left  her  under  good  pro 
tection,  and  wanted  her  to  try  and  make  up  her  mind 
to  marry  Jeff,  as  that  would  keep  the  property  to 
gether. 

"  Wai,  now  there  couldn't  be  no  sort  o'  sugar 
sweeter  than  Jeff  was  to  them  lone  wimmen.  Jeff 
\*  as  one  o'  the  sort  that  could  be  all  things  to  all 
wimmen.  He  waited  and  he  tended,  and  he  was  as 
humble  as  any  snake  in  the  grass  that  ever  ye  see 
and  the  old  lady,  she  clean  fell  in  with  him,  but  Ruth, 


42  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES 

she  seemed  to  have  a  regular  spite  agin  him.  And  she 
that  war  as  gentle  as  a  lamb,  that  never  had  so  much 
as  a  hard  thought  of  a  mortal  critter,  and  wouldn't 
tread  on  a  worm,  she  was  so  set  agin  Jeff,  that  she 
wouldn't  so  much  as  touch  his  hand  when  she  got 
out  o'  her  kerridge. 

"  Wai,  now  comes  the  strange  part  o'  my  story." 
Ruth  was  one  o'  the  kind  that  hes  the  gift  <?  seein. 
She  was  lorn  with  a  veil  over  her  face!" 

This  mysterious  piece  of  physiological  information 
about  Ruth  was  given  with  a  look  and  air  that 
announced  something  very  profound  and  awful ;  and 
we  both  took  up  the  inquiry,  "  Born  with  a  veil  over 
her  face  ?  How  should  that  make  her  see  ?  " 

"  Wai,  boys,  how  should  I  know  ?  But  the  fact  IB 
so.  There's  those  as  is  wal  known  as  lies  the  gift  o' 
seein'  what  others  can't  see:  they  can  see  through 
walls  and  houses ;  they  can  see  people's  hearts  ;  they 
can  see  what's  to  come.  They  don't  know  nothin' 
how  'tis,  but  this  'ere  knowledge  comes  to  'em  :  it's  a 
gret  gift;  and  that  sort's  born  with  the  veil  over 
their  faces.  Ruth  was  o'  these  'ere.  Old  Granny 
Badger  she  was  the  knowingest  old  nuss  in  all  these 


THE   SULLIVAN    LOOKING-GLASS.  43 

parts  ;  and  she  was  with  Ruth's  mother  when  she  was 
horn,  and  she  told  Lady  Lothrop  all  about  it.  Says 
she,  '  You  may  depend  upon  it  that  child  '11  have  the 
"  second-sight"  '  says  she.  Oh,  that  'are  fact  was  wal 
known  !  Wal,  that  was  the  reason  why  Jeff  Sullivan 
couldn't  come  it  round  Ruth  tho'  he  was  silkier 
than  a  milkweed-pod,  and  jest  about  as  patient  as  a 
spider  in  his  hole  a  watchin'  to  get  his  grip  on  a  fly. 
Ruth  wouldn't  argue  with  him,  and  she  wouldn't 
flout  him  ;  but  she  jest  shut  herself  up  in  herself,  and 
kept  a  lookout  on  him  ;  but  she  told  your  Aunt  Lois 
jest  what  she  thought  about  him. 

"  Wal,  in  about  six  months,  come  the  news  that  the 
Gineral  was  dead.  He  dropped  right  down  in  his 
tracks,  dead  with  apoplexy,  as  if  he  had  been  shot ; 
and  Lady  Maxwell  she  writ  a  long  letter  to  my  lady 
and  Ruth.  Ye  see,  he'd  got  to  be  Sir  Thomas  Sullivan 
over  there  ;  and  he  was  a  comin'  home  to  take  'em  all 
over  to  England  to  live  in  grande'r.  Wal,  my  Lad}' 
Sullivan  (she  was  then,  ye  see)  she  took  it  drefful 
hard.  Ef  they'd  a  been  the  lovingest  couple  in  the 
world,  she  couldn't  a  took  it  harder.  Aunt  Polly,  she 
said  it  was  all  'cause  she  thought  so  much  of  him,  that 


44  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

she  fit  him  so.  There's  women  that  thinks  so  mucl 
o'  their  husbands,  that  they  won't  let  'em  hev  no 
peace  o'  their  life  ;  and  I  expect  it  war  so  with  her 
poor  soul !  Any  way,  she  went  right  down  smack 
»vhen  she  heard  he  was  dead.  She  was  abed,  sick. 
when  the  news  come  ;  and  she  never  spoke  nor  smiled 
jest  turned  her  back  to  everybody,  and  kinder  wilted 
and  wilted,  and  was  dead  in  a  week.  And  there  was 
poor  little  Ruth  left  all  alone  in  the  world,  with 
neither  kith  nor  kin  but  Jeff. 

"  Wai,  when  the  funeral  was  over,  and  the  time 
app'inted  to  read  the  will  and  settle  up  matters,  there 
wa'n't  no  will  to  be  found  nowhere,  high  nor  low. 

"  Lawyer  Dean  he  flew  round  like  a  parched  pea  on 
a  bhovel.  He  said  he  thought  he  could  a  gone  in  the 
darkest  night,  and  put  his  hand  on  that  'ere  will ;  but 
when  he  went  where  he  thought  it  was,  he  found  it 
warn't  there,  and  he  knowed  he'd  kep'  it  under  lock 
and  key.  What  he  thought  was  the  will  turned  out 
to  be  an  old  mortgage.  Wai,  there  was  an  awful 
row  and  a  to-do  about  it,  you  may  be  sure.  Ruth, 
she  jist  said  nothin'  good  or  bad.  And  her  not 
speakin'  made  Jeff  a  sight  more  uncomfortable  than 


THE  SULLIVAN   LOOKING-GLASS.  45 

ef  she'd  a  bed  it  out  with  him.  He  told  her  it 
shouldn't  make  no  sort  o'  difference  ;  that  he  should 
allers  stand  ready  to  give  her  all  he  hed,  if  she'd 
only  take  him  with  it.  And  when  it  came  to  that 
she  only  gin  him  a  look,  and  went  out  o'  the  room. 

"  Jeff  he  flared  and  flounced  and  talked,  and  went 
round  and  round  a  rumpussin'  among  the  papers,  but 
no  will  was  forthcoming  high  or  low.  Wai,  now 
here  comes  what's  remarkable.  Ruth  she  told  this 
'ere,  all  the  particulars,  to  yer  Aunt  Lois  and  Lady 
Lothrop.  She  said  that  the  night  after  the  funeral 
she  went  up  to  her  chamber.  Ruth  had  the  gret 
front  chamber,  opposite  to  Mis'  Sullivan's.  I've  been 
in  it ;  it  was  a  monstrous  big  room,  with  outlandish 
furniture  in  it,  that  the  Gineral  brought  over  from  an 
old  palace  out  to  Italy.  And  there  was  a  great  big 
lookin'-glass  over  the  dressin'-table,  that  they  said 
come  from  Venice,  that  swung  so  that  you  could  see 
the  whole  room  in  it.  Wai,  she  was  a  standiii'  front 
o'  this,  jist  goin'  to  undress  herself,  a  hearin'  the  rain 
drip  on  the  leaves  and  the  wind  a  whishin'  and  whis- 
perin'  in  the  old  elm-trees,  and  jist  a  thinkin'  over 
her  lot,  and  what  should  she  do  now,  all  alone  in  the 


46  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

world,  when  of  a  sudden  she  felt  a  kind  o'  lightness 
in  her  head,  and  she  thought  she  seemed  to  see 
somebody  in  the  glass  a  movin'.  And  she  looked  be 
hind,  and  there  wa'n't  nobodj^  there.  Then  she 
looked  forward  in  the  glass,  and  saw  a  strange  big 
room,  that  she'd  never  seen  before,  with  a  long 
painted  winder  in  it ;  and  along  side  o'  this  stood  a 
tall  cabinet  with  a  good  many  drawers  in  it.  And 
she  saw  herself,  and  knew  that  it  was  herself,  in  this 
room,  along  with  another  woman  whose  back  was 
turned  towards  her.  She  saw  herself  speak  to  this 
woman,  and  p'int  to  the  cabinet.  She  saw  the  wo 
man  nod  her  head.  She  saw  herself  go  to  the  cabi 
net,  and  open  the  middle  drawer,  and  take  out  a  bun 
dle  o'  papers  from  the  very  back  end  on't.  She  saw 
her  take  out  a  paper  from  the  middle,  and  open  it, 
and  hold  it  up ;  and  she  knew  that  there  was  the 
missin'  will.  Wai,  it  all  overcome  her  so  that  she 
fainted  clean  away.  And  her  maid  found  her  a  ly- 
in'  front  o'  the  dressin'-table  on  the  floor. 

44  She  was  sick  of  a  fever  for  a  week  or  fortnight 
d'ter ;  and  your  Aunt  Lois  she  was  down  takin'  care 
of  her  ;  and,  as  soon  as  she  got  able  to  be  moved,  she 


THE  SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  47 

was  took  out  to  Lady  Lothrop's.  Jeff  he  was  jist 
as  attentive  and  good  as  he  could  be ;  but  she 
wouldn't  bear  him  near  her  room.  If  he  so  much  as 
set  a  foot  on  the  stairs  that  led  to  it  she'd  know  it, 
,ind  got  so  wild  that  he  hed  to  be  kept  from  comin' 
into  the  front  o'  the  house.  But  he  was  doin'  his 
best  to  buy  up  good  words  from  everybody.  He  paid 
all  the  servants  double ;  he  kept  every  one  in  their 
places,  and  did  so  well  by  'em  all  that  the  gen'l 
word  among  'em  was  that  Miss  Ruth  couldn't  do 
better  than  to  marry  such  a  nice,  open-handed  gentle 
man. 

"  Wai,  Lady  Lothrop  she  wrote  to  Lady  Maxwell 
all  that  hed  happened ;  and  Lady  Maxwell,  she  sent 
over  for  Ruth  to  come  over  and  be  a  companion  for 
her,  and  said  she'd  adopt  her,  and  be  as  a  mother  to 
her. 

"  Wai,  then  Ruth  she  went  over  with  some  gentle 
folks  that  was  goin'  back  to  England,  and  offered  to 
see  her  safe  and  sound ;  and  so  she  was  set  down  at 
Lady  Maxwell's  manor.  It  was  a  grand  place,  she 
said,  and  such  as  she  never  see  before,  —  like  them  old 
gentry  places  in  England.  And  Lady  Maxwell  she 


48  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

made  much  of  her,  and  cosseted  her  up  for  the  sake 
of  what  the  old  Gineral  had  said  about  her.  And 
Ruth  she  told  her  all  her  story,  and  how  she  believed 
that  the  will  was  to  be  found  somewhere,  and  that 
she  should  be  led  to  see  it  yet. 

"She  told  her,  too,  that  she  felt  it  in  her  that 
Cap'n  Oliver  wasn't  dead,  and  that  he'd  come  back 
yet.  And  Lady  Maxwell  she  took  up  for  her  with 
might  and  main,  and  said  she'd  stand  by  her.  But 
then,  ye  see,  so  long  as  there  warn't  no  will  to  be 
found,  there  warn't  nothin'  to  be  done.  Jeff  was  the 
next  heir ;  and  he'd  got  every  thing,  stock,  and  lot,  and 
the  estate  in  England  into  the  bargain.  And  folks  was 
beginnin'  to  think  putty  well  of  him,  as  folks  allers 
does  when  a  body  is  up  in  the  world,  and  lies  houses 
and  lands.  Lordy  massy !  riches  allers  covers  a  mul 
titude  o'  sins. 

"  Finally,  when  Ruth  hed  ben  six  months  with 
her,  one  day  Lady  Maxwell  got  to  tellin'  her  all 
about  her  history,  and  what  hed  ben  atween  her 
and  her  cousin,  when  they  was  young,  and  how  they 
hed  a  quarrel  and  he  flung  off  to  Ameriky,  and  all 
them  things  that  it  don't  do  folks  no  good  to  remem- 


THE  SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  49 

ber  when  it's  all  over  and  can't  be  helped.  But  she 
was  a  lone  body,  and  it  seemed  to  do  her  good  to 
talk  about  it. 

"  Finally,  she  says  to  Ruth,  says  she,  '  I'll  show 
you  a  room  in  this  house  you  han't  seen  before. 
It  was  the  room  where  we  hed  that  quarrel/  say* 
she ;  '  and  the  last  I  saw  of  him  was  there,  till  he 
come  back  to  die,'  says  she. 

"  So  she  took  a  gret  key  out  of  her  bunch ;  and  she 
led  Ruth  along  a  long  passage-way  to  the  other  end 
of  the  house,  and  opened  on  a  great  library.  And  the 
minute  Ruth  came  in,  she  threw  up  her  hands  and 
gin  a  great  cry.  4  Oh ! '  says  she,  '  this  is  the  room  ! 
and  there  is  the  window  !  and  there  is  the  cabinet ! 
and  there  in  that  middle  drawer  at  the  back  'end  in  <i 
bundle  of  papers  is  THE  WILL  ! 

"And  Lady  Maxwell  she  said,  quite  dazed,  4  Go 
look,'  says  she.  And  Ruth  went,  jest  as  she  seed  her 
self  do,  and  opened  the  drawer,  and  drew  forth  from 
the  back  part  a  yellow  pile  of  old  letters.  And  in 
the  middle  of  those  was  the  will,  sure  enough.  Ruth 
drew  it  out,  and  opened  it,  and  showed  it  to 
her. 

5 


50  OLDTO\V:N  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

"  Wai,  you  see  that  will  give  Ruth  the  whole  of 
the  Gineral's  property  in  America,  tho'  it  did  leave 
the  English  estate  to  Jeff. 

"  Wai,  the  end  on't  was  like  a  story-book. 

"  Jeff  he  made  believe  be  mighty  glad.  And  he 
said  it  must  a  ben  that  the  Gineral  hed  got  flustered 
with  the  sperit  and  water,  and  put  that  'ere  will  in 
among  his  letters  that  he  was  a  doin'  up  to  take  back 
to  England.  For  it  was  in  among  Lady  Maxwell's 
letters  that  she  writ  him  when  they  was  young,  and 
that  he'd  a  kep'  all  these  years  and  was  a  takin' 
back  to  her. 

"  Wai,  Lawyer  Dean  said  he  was  sure  that  Jeff 
made  himself  quite  busy  and  useful  that  night,  a  tyin' 
up  the  papers  with  red  tape,  and  a  packin'  the  Gin 
eral's  trunk ;  and  that,  when  Jeff  gin  him  his  bundle  to 
lock  up  in  his  box,  he  never  mistrusted  but  what  he'd 
got  it  all  right. 

"  Wai,  you  see  it  was  jest  one  of  them  things  that 
can't  be  known  to  the  jedgment-day.  It  might  a  ben 
an  accident,  and  then  agin  it  might  not ;  and  folks 
settled  it  one  way  or  t'other,  'cordin'  to  their  'pinion 
o'  Jeff;  but  ye  see  how  'mazin'  handy  for  him  it 


THE   SULLIVAN  LOOKING-GLASS.  51 

happened !  Why,  ef  it  hadn't  ben  for  the  provi 
dence  I've  ben  a  tellin'  about,  there  it  might  a  lain 
in  them  old  letters,  that  Lady  Maxwell  said  she 
never  hed  the  heart  to  look  over !  it  never  would  a 
turned  up  in  the  world." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  what  became  of  Ruth  ?  " 

"  Oh !  Cap'n  Oliver  he  came  back  all  alive,  arid 
escaped  from  the  Algerines  ;  and  they  was  married  in 
King's  Chapel,  and  lived  in  the  old  Sullivan  House,  in 
peace  and  prosperity.  That's  jest  how  the  story  was  ; 
and  now  Aunt  Lois  can  make  what  she's  a  mind  ter 
out  on't." 

"  And  what  became  of  Jeff?  " 

"  Oh !  he  started  to  go  over  to  England,  and 
the  ship  was  wrecked  off  the  Irish  coast,  and 
that  was  the  last  of  him.  He  never  got  to  his 
property." 

"  Good  enough  for  him,"  said  both  of  us. 

"  Wai,  I  don't  know :  'twas  pretty  hard  on  Jeff. 
Mebbe  he  did,  and  mebbe  he  didn't.  I'm  glad  I 
warn't  in  his  shoes,  tho'.  I'd  rather  never  hed 
not h in'.  This  'ere  hastin'  to  be  rich  is  sich  a  dreffu] 
temptation. 


52 


OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 


"  Wai,  now,  boys,  ye've  done  a  nice  lot  o'  flax, 
and  I  guess  we'll  go  up  to  yer  grand'ther's 
cellar  and  git  a  mug  o'  cyder.  Talkin'  always 
gits  me  dry." 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOUSEKEEPER. 


Pc*lfE.  —  The  shady  side  of  a  blueberry-pasture.  —  Sam  Lawson  with  the  boys, 
picking  blueberries.  —  Sam,  loq. 


>AL,  you  see,  boys,  'twas  just  here,  — 
Parson  Carry  1's  wife,  she  died  along 
in  the  forepart  o'  March :  my  cousin 
Huldy,  she  undertook  to  keep  house 
for  him.  The  way  on't  was,  that 
Huldy,  she  went  to  take  care  o'  Mis' 
Carryl  in  the  fust  on't,  when  she 
fust  took  sick.  Huldy  was  a  tailoress  by  trade  ;  but 
then  she  was  one  o'  these  'ere  facultised  persons  that 
has  a  gift  for  most  any  thing,  and  that  was  how  Mis' 
Carryl  come  to  set  sech  otore  by  her,  that,  when  she 
was  sick,  nothin'  would  do  for  her  but  she  must  have 
Huldy  round  all  the  time:  and  the  minister,  he  said 


54  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

he'd  make  it  good  to  her  all  the  same,  and  she 
shouldn't  lose  nothin'  by  it.  And  so  Huldy,  she  staid 
with  Mis'  Carryl  full  three  months  afore  she  died, 
and  got  to  seein'  to  every  thing  pretty  much  round 
the  place. 

"  Wai,  arter  Mis'  Carryl  died,  Parson  Carryl,  he'd 
got  so  kind  o'  used  to  hevin'  on  her  'round,  takin' 
care  o'  things,  that  he  wanted  her  to  stay  along  a 
spell ;  and  so  Huldy,  she  staid  along  a  spell,  and 
poured  out  his  tea,  and  mended  his  close,  and  made 
pies  and  cakes,  and  cooked  and  washed  and  ironed, 
and  kep'  every  thing  as  neat  as  a  pin.  Huldy  was  a 
drefful  chipper  sort  o'  gal ;  and  work  sort  o'  rolled  off 
from  her  like  water  off  a  duck's  back.  There  warn't 
no  gal  in  Sherburne  that  could  put  sich  a  sight  o' 
work  through  as  Huldy  ;  and  yet,  Sunday  mornin', 
she  always  come  out  in  the  singers'  seat  like  one  o' 
these  'ere  June  roses,  lookin'  so  fresh  and  smilin', 
and  her  voice  was  jest  as  clear  and  sweet  as  a 
meadow  lark's  —  Lordy  massy  !  I  'member  how  she 
used  to  sing  seme  o'  them  'are  places  where  the 
treble  and  counter  used  to  go  together :  her  voice 
kind  o  trembled  a  little,  and  it  sort  o'  went 


THE   MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  55 

thro'  and  -thro'  a  feller !  tuck  him  right  where  he 
lived  1 " 

Here  Sam  leaned  contemplatively  back  with  his 
head  in  a  clump  of  sweet  fern,  and  refreshed  himself 
with  a  chew  of  young  wintergreen.  "  This  'ere 
young  wintergreen,  boys,  is  jest  like  a  feller's 
thoughts  o'  things  that  happened  when  he  was 
young :  it  comes  "up  jest  so  fresh  and  tender  every 
year,  the  longest  time  you  hev  to  live  ;  and  you  can't 
help  chawin'  on't  tho'  'tis  sort  o'  stingin'.  I  don't 
never  get  over  likin'  young  wintergreen." 

"  But  about  Huldah,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  about  Huldy.  Lordy  massy !  when  a 
feller  is  Indianin'  round,  these  'ere  pleasant  summer 
days,  a  feller's  thoughts  gits  like  a  flock  o'  young 
partridges :  they's  up  and  down  and  everywhere  ; 
'cause  one  place  is  jest  about  as  good  as  another, 
when  they's  all  so  kind  o'  comfortable  and  nice. 
Wai,  about  Huldy,  —  as  I  was  a  sayin'.  She  was 
jest  as  handsome  a  gal  to  look  at  as  a  feller  could 
have  ;  and  I  think  a  nice,  well-behaved  young  gal  in 
the  singers'  seat  of  a  Sunday  is  a  means  o'  grace  :  it's 
sort  o'  drawin'  to  the  unregenerate,  you  know. 


56  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

Why,  boys,  in  them  days,  I've  walked  ten  miles  over 
to  Sherburne  of  a  Sunday  mornin',  jest  to  play  the 
bass-viol  in  the  same  singers'  seat  with  Huldy.  She 
was  very  much  respected,  Huldy  was ;  and,  when  she 
went  out  to  tailorin',  she  was  allers  bespoke  six 
months  ahead,  and  sent  for  in  waggins  up  and  down 
for  ten  miles  round  ;  for  the  young  fellers  was  allers 
'mazin'  anxious  to  be  sent  after  Huldy,  and  was 
quite  free  to  offer  to  go  for  her.  Wai,  after  Mis' 
Carryl  died,  Huldy  got  to  be  sort  o'  housekeeper 
at  the  minister's,  and  saw  to  every  thing,  and  did 
every  thing  :  so  that  there  warn't  a  pin  out  o'  the 
way. 

"  But  you  know  how  'tis  in  parishes  :  there  allers  is 
women  that  thinks  the  minister's  affairs  belongs  to 
them,  and  they  ought  to  have  the  ruliii'  and  guidin' 
of  'em ;  and,  if  a  minister's  wife  dies,  there's  folks 
that  allers  has  their  eyes  open  on  providences,  — 
iookin'  out  who's  to  be  the  next  one. 

"  Now,  there  was  Mis'  Amaziah  Pipperidge,  a  widder 
with  snappin'  black  eyes,  and  a  hook  nose,  —  kind  o' 
like  a  hawk  ;  and  she  was  one  o'  them  up-and-down 
commaridin'  sort  o'  women,  that  feel  that  they  have  a 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  67 

call  to  be  seein*  to  every  thing  that  goes  on  in  the 
parish,  and  'specially  to  the  minister. 

"  Folks  did  say  that  Mis'  Pipperidge  sort  o'  sot  her 
eye  on  the  parson  for  herself :  wal,  now  that  'are 
might  a  been,  or  it  might  not.  Some  folks  thought 
it  was  a  very  suitable  connection.  You  see  she  hed  a 
good  property  of  her  own,  right  nigh  to  the  minister's 
lot,  and  was  allers  kind  o'  active  and  busy  ;  so,  takin' 
one  thing  with  another,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Mis' 
Pipperidge  should  a  thought  that  Providence  p'inted 
that  way.  At  any  rate,  she  went  up  to  Deakin  Blod- 
gett's  wife,  and  they  two  sort  o'  put  their  heads 
together  a  mournin'  and  condolin'  about  the  way 
things  was  likely  to  go  on  at  the  minister's  now  Mis' 
Carryl  was  dead.  Ye  see,  the  parson's  wife,  she  was 
one  of  them  women  who  hed  their  eyes  everywhere 
and  on  every  thing.  She  was  a  little  thin  woman, 
but  tough  as  Inger  rubber,  and  smart  as  a  steel  trap  ; 
and  there  warn't  a  hen  laid  an  egg,  or  cackled,  but  Mis' 
Carryl  was  right  there  to  see  about  it ;  and  she  hed 
the  garden  made  in  the  spring,  and  the  medders 
mowed  in  summer,  and  the  cider  made,  and  the  corn 
husked,  and  the  apples  got  in  the  fall ;  and  the  doctor, 


58  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

he  hedn't  nothin'  to  do  but  jest  sit  stock  still  a  medi 
tatin'  on  Jerusalem  and  Jericho  and  them  things  thai 
ministers  think  about.  But  Lordy  massy !  he  didn't 
know  nothin'  about  where  any  thing  he  eat  or  drunk 
or  wore  come  from  or  went  to  :  his  wife  jest  leu 
him  'round  in  temporal  things  arid  took  care  on  hnu 
like  a  baby. 

"  Wai,  to  be  sure,  Mis'  Carryl  looked  up  to  him 
in  spirituals,  and  thought  all  the  world  on  him ;  for 
there  warn't  a  smarter  minister  no  where  'round. 
Why,  when  he  preached  on  decrees  and  election, 
they  used  to  come  clear  over  from  South  Parish,  and 
West  Sherburne,  and  Old  Town  to  hear  him  ;  and 
there  was  sich  a  row  o'  waggins  tied  along  by  the 
meetin'-house  that  the  stables  was  all  full,  and  all 
the  hitchin'-posts  was  full  clean  up  to  the  tavern,  so 
that  folks  said  the  doctor  made  the  town  look  like  a 
gineral  trainin'-day  a  Sunday. 

"  He  was  gret  on  texts,  the  doctor  was.      When 

he  hed  a  p'int  to  prove,  he'd  jest  go  thro'  the  Bible, 

and  drive  all  the  texts  ahead  o'  him  like  a  flock  o' 

sheep ;  and  then,  if  there  was  a  text  that  seemed 

gin  him,  why,  he'd  come  out  with  his  Greek  and 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOUSEKEEPER.  59 

Hebrew,  and  kind  o'  chase  it  'round  a  spell,  jest  as  ye 
see  a  fellar  chase  a  contrary  bell-wether,  and  make 
him  jump  the  fence  arter  the  rest.  I  tell  you,  there 
wa'n't  no  text  in  the  Bible  that  could  stand  agin  the 
doctor  when  his  blood  was  up.  The  year  arter  the 
doctor  was  app'inted  to  preach  the  'lection  sermon 
in  Boston,  he  made  such  a  figger  that  the  Brattle- 
street  Church  sent  a  committee  right  down  to  see  if 
they  couldn't  get  him  to  Boston  ;  and  then  the  Sher- 
burne  folks,  they  up  and  raised  his  salary ;  ye  see, 
there  ain't  nothin'  wakes  folks  up  like  somebody 
else's  wantin'  what  you've  got.  Wai,  that  fall  they 
made  him  a  Doctor  o'  Divinity  at  Cambridge  College, 
and  so  they  sot  more  by  him  than  ever.  Wai,  you 
see,  the  doctor,  of  course  he  felt  kind  o'  lonesome 
and  afflicted  when  Mis'  Carryl  was  gone  ;  but  railly 
and  truly,  Huldy  was  so  up  to  every  thing  about 
house,  that  the  doctor  didn't  miss  nothin'  in  a  tem 
poral  way.  His  shirt-bosoms  was  pleated  finer 
than  they  ever  was,  and  them  ruffles  'round  his 
\vrists  was  kep'  like  the  driven  snow;  and  there 
warn't  a  brack  in  his  silk  stockin's,  and  his  shoe 
buckles  was  kep'  polished  up,  and  his  coats  brushed ; 


60  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

and  then  there  warn't  no  bread  and  biscuit  like 
Huldy's ;  and  her  butter  was  like  solid  lumps  o'  gold ; 
and  there  wern't  no  pies  to  equal  hers ;  and  so  the 
doctor  never  felt  the  loss  o'  Miss  Carryl  at  table. 
Then  there  was  Huldy  allers  oppisite  to  him,  with 
her  blue  eyes  and  her  cheeks  like  two  fresh  peaches. 
She  was  kind  o'  pleasant  to  look  at ;  and  the  more  the 
doctor  looked  at  her  the  better  he  liked  her  ;  and  so 
things  seemed  to  be  goin'  on  quite  quiet  and  com 
fortable  ef  it  hadn't  been  that  Mis'  Pipperidge  and 
Mis'  Deakin  Blodgett  and  Mis'  Sawin  got  their 
heads  together  a  talkin'  about  things. 

"  '  Poor  man,'  says  Mis'  Pipperidge,  4  what  can  that 
child  that  he's  got  there  do  towards  takin'  the  care 
of  all  that  place  ?  It  takes  a  mature  woman,'  she 
says,  4  to  tread  in  Mis'  Carryl's  shoes.' 

"  '  That  it  does,'  said  Mis'  Blodgett ;  '  and,  when 
things  once  get  to  runnin'  down  hill,  there  ain't  no 
stoppin'  on  'em,'  says  she. 

"  Then  Mis'  Sawin  she  took  it  up.  (Ye  see,  Mis' 
Sawin  used  to  go  out  to  dress-makin',  and  was  sort  o' 
jealous,  'cause  folks  sot  more  by  Huldy  than  they 
did  by  her).  4  Well,'  says  she,  l  Huldy  Peters  is 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  61 

well  enough  at  her  trade.  I  never  denied  that,  though 
I  do  say  I  never  did  believe  in  her  way  o'  makin'  but 
ton-holes  ;  and  I  must  say,  if  'twas  the  dearest  friend 
I  hed,  that  I  thought  Huldy  tryin'  to  fit  Mis'  Kit- 
tridge's  plumb-colored  silk  was  a  clear  piece  o'  pre 
sumption  ;  the  silk  was  jist  spiled,  so  'twarn't  fit  to 
come  into  the  meetin'-house.  I  must  say,  Huldy's  a 
gal  that's  always  too  ventersome  about  takin'  'spon- 
sibilities  she  don't  know  nothin'  about.' 

"  '  Of  course  she  don't,'  said  Mis'  Deakin  Blodgett. 
4  What  does  she  know  about  all  the  lookin'  and  see- 
in'  to  that  there  ought  to  be  in  guidin'  the  minister's 
house.  Huldy's  well  meaning  and  she's  good  at  her 
work,  and  good  in  the  singers'  seat ;  but  Lordy  massy  ! 
she  hain't  got  no  experience.  Parson  Carryl  ought 
to  have  an  experienced  woman  to  keep  house  for  him. 
There's  the  spring  house-cleanin'  and  the  fall  house- 
cleanin'  to  be  seen  to,  and  the  things  to  be  put 
away  from  the  moths ;  and  then  the  gettin'  ready 
for  the  association  and  all  the  ministers'  meetin's ; 
and  tha  makin'  the  soap  and  the  candles,  and  settin' 
the  hens  and  turkeys,  watchin'  the  calves,  and  seein' 
after  the  hired  men  and  the  garden ;  and  there 

6 


62  OLDTOWN  FJKESIDE  STORIES. 

that  'are  blessed  man  jist  sets  there  at  home  as  serene, 
and  has  nobody  'round  but  that  'are  gal,  and  don't 
even  know  how  things  must  be  a  runnin'  to  waste  ! ' 

"  Wai,  the  upshot  on't  was,  they  fussed  and  fuzzled 
and  wuzzled  till  they'd  drinked  up  all  the  tea  in  the  tea 
pot  ;  and  then  they  went  down  and  called  on  the  par 
son,  and  wuzzled  him  all  up  talkin'  about  this,  that, 
and  t'other  that  wanted  lookin'  to,  and  that  it  was  no 
way  to  leave  every  thing  to  a  young  chit  like  Huldy, 
and  that  he  ought  to  be  lookin'  about  for  an  experi 
enced  woman.  The  parson  he  thanked  'em  kindly, 
and  said  he  believed  their  motives  was  good,  but  he 
didn't  go  110  further.  He  didn't  ask  Mis'  Pipperidge 
to  come  and  stay  there  and  help  him,  nor  nothin'  o' 
that  kind ;  but  he  said  he'd  attend  to  matters  himself. 
The  fact  was,  the  parson  had  got  such  a  likin'  for 
havin'  Huldy  'round,  that  he  couldn't  think  o'  such  a 
thing  as  swappin'  her  off  for  the  Widder  Pipperidge. 

"  But  he  thought  to  himself,  '  Huldy  is  a  good  girl ; 
but  I  oughtn't  to  be  a  leavin'  every  thing  to  her,  —  it's 
too  hard  on  her.  I  ought  to  be  instructin'  and  guidin' 
and  helpin'  of  her ;  'cause  'tain't  everybody  could  be 
expected  to  know  and  do  what  Mis'  Carry  1  did ; '  and 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  63 

so  at  it  he  went ;  and  Lordy  massy !  didn't  Huldy  hev 
a  time  on't  when  the  minister  began  to  come  out  of 
his  study,  and  want  to  tew  'round  and  see  to  things  ? 
Huldy,  you  see,  thought  all  the  world  of  the  minis 
ter,  and  she  was  'most  afraid  to  laugh  ;  but  she  told 
me  she  couldn't,  for  the  life  of  her,  help  it  when  his 
back  was  turned,  for  he  wuzzled  things  up  in  the 
most  singular  way.  But  Huldy  she'd  jest  say  '  Yes, 
sir,'  and  get  him  off  into  his  study,  and  go  on  her 
own  way. 

"  '  Huldy,'  says  the  minister  one  day, '  you  ain't  ex 
perienced  out  doors ;  and,  when  you  want  to  know 
any  thing,  you  must  come  to  me.' 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  says  Huldy. 

" '  Now,  Huldy,'  says  the  parson, 4  you  must  be  sure 
to  save  the  turkey-eggs,  so  that  we  can  have  a  lot  of 
turkeys  for  Thanksgiving.' 

"  '  Yes,  sir,'  says  Huldy ;  and  she  opened  the  pantry - 
door,  and  showed  him  a  nice  dishful  she'd  been  a  sav 
in'  up.  Wai,  the  very  next  day  the  parson's  hen-tur 
key  was  found  killed  up  to  old  Jim  Scroggs's  barn. 
Folks  said  Scroggs  killed  it ;  though  Scroggs,  he  stood 
to  it  he  didn't :  at  any  rate,  the  Scroggses,  they  made 


64  OLDTOWN   FIKESIDE   STORIES. 

a  meal  on't  i  and  Huldy,  she  felt  bad  about  it  'cause 
she'd  set  her  heart  on  raisin'  the  turkeys ;  and  says 
she,  c  Oh,  dear !  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do.  I  was 
just  ready  to  set  her.' 

" '  Do,  Huldy  ? '  says  the  parson  :  i  why,  there's  the 
other  turkey,  out  there  by  the  door ;  and  a  fine  bird, 
too,  he  is.' 

Sure  enough,  there  was  the  old  torn- turkey  a 
struttin'  and  a  sidlin'  and  a  quitterin,'  and  a  floutin' 
his  tail-feathers  in  the  sun,  like  a  lively  young  wid 
ower,  all  ready  to  begin  life  over  agin. 

" '  But,'  says  Huldy,  '  you  know  he  can't  set  on 


"  «  He  can't  ?  I'd  like  to  know  why,'  says  the  parson. 
'He  shall  set  on  eggs,  and  hatch  'em  too.' 

"  '  O  doctor  ! '  says  Huldy,  all  in  a  tremble  ;  'cause, 
you  know,  she  didn't  want  to  contradict  the  minister, 
and  she  was  afraid  she  should  laugh,  — '  I  never 
heard  that  a  torn-turkey  would  set  on  eggs.' 

" '  Why,  they  ought  to,'  said  the  parson,  getting 
quite  'arnest :  '  what  else  be  they  good  for  ?  you 
just  bring  out  the  eggs,  now,  and  put  'em  in  the  nest, 
and  I'll  make  him  set  on  'em.' 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOUSEKEEPER.  65 

"  So  Huldy  she  thought  there  wern't  no  way  to  con 
vince  him  but  to  let  him  try :  so  she  took  the  eggs 
out,  and  fixed  'em  all  nice  in  the  nest ;  and  then  she 
come  back  and  found  old  Tom  a  skirmishin'  with  the 
parson  pretty  lively,  I  tell  ye.  Ye  see,  old  Tom  he 
didn't  take  the  idee  at  all ;  and  he  flopped  and  gobbled, 
and  fit  the  parson  ;  and  the  parson's  wig  got  'round 
so  that  his  cue  stuck  straight  out  over  his  ear,  but 
he'd  got  his  blood  up.  Ye  see,  the  old  doctor  was 
used  to  carryin'  his  p'ints  o'  doctrine  ;  and  he  hadn't 
fit  the  Arminians  and  Socinians  to  be  beat  by  a  tom- 
turkey ;  so  finally  he  made  a  dive,  and  ketched  him 
by  the  neck  in  spite  o'  his  floppin',  and  stroked  him 
down,  and  put  Huldy's  apron  'round  him. 

" *  There,  Huldy,'  he  says,  quite  red  in  the  face, 
4  we've  got  him  now  ; '  and  he  travelled  off  to  the 
barn  with  him  as  lively  as  a  cricket. 

"  Huldy  came  behind  jist  chokin'  with  laugh,  and 
afraid  the  minister  would  look  'round  and  see  her. 

"  l  Now,  Huldy,  we'll  crook  his  legs,  and  set  him 
down,'  says  the  parson,  when  they  got  him  to  the 
nest :  '  you  see  he  is  getting  quiet,  and  he'll  set  there 
all  right.' 


66  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

"  And  the  parson,  he  sot  him  down  ;  and  old  Tom  he 
sot  there  solemn  enough,  and  held  his  head  down  all 
droopin',  lookin'  like  a  rail  pious  old  cock,  as  long  as 
the  parson  sot  by  him. 

"  4  There  :  you  see  how  still  he  sets,'  says  the  par 
son  to  Huldy. 

"  Huldy  was  'most  dyin'  for  fear  she  should  laugh, 
1  I'm  afraid  he'll  get  up,'  says  she,  '  when  you 
do.' 

" '  Oh,  no,  he  won't ! '  says  the  parson,  quite  confident. 
4  There,  there,'  says  he,  layin'  his  hands  on  him,  as  if 
pronouncin'  a  blessin'.  But  when  the  parson  riz  up, 
old  Tom  he  riz  up  too,  and  began  to  march  over  the 
eggs. 

"  '  Stop,  now ! '  says  the  parson.  '  I'll  make  him  get 
down  agin :  hand  me  that  corn-basket ;  we'll  put 
that  over  him.' 

"  So  he  crooked  old  Tom's  legs,  and  got  him  down 
agin;  and  they  put  the  corn-basket  over  him,  and 
then  they  both  stood  and  waited. 

"  '  That'll  do  the  thing,  Huldy,'  said  the  parson. 

"  '  I  don't  know  about  it,'  says  Huldy. 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  it  will,  child  !  I  understand,'  says  he. 


:  Huldy  came  behind^  jist  chokirf  with  laugh"  —  Page  65. 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  67 

"  Just  as  he  spoke,  the  basket  riz  right  up  and  stood, 
and  they  could  see  old  Tom's  long  legs. 

" '  I'll  make  him  stay  down,  confound  him,'  says 
the  parson ;  for,  ye  see,  parsons  is  men,  like  the  rest 
on  us,  and  the  doctor  had  got  his  spunk  up. 

" '  You  jist  hold  him  a  minute,  and  I'll  get  some 
thing  that'll  make  him  stay,  I  guess ; '  and  out  he 
went  to  the  fence,  and  brought  in  a  long,  thin,  flat 
stone,  and  laid  it  on  old  Tom's  back. 

"  Old  Tom  he  wilted  down  considerable  under 
this,  and  looked  railly  as  if  he  was  goin'  to  give  in. 
He  staid  still  there  a  good  long  spell,  and  the  min 
ister  and  Huldy  left  him  there  and  come  up  to  the 
house ;  but  they  hadn't  more  than  got  in  the  door 
before  they  see  old  Tom  a  hippin'  along,  as  high- 
steppin'  as  ever,  say  in'  4  Talk  !  talk  !  and  quitter ! 
quitter ! '  and  struttin'  and  gobblin'  as  if  he'd  come 
through  the  Red  Sea,  and  got  the  victory. 

"  '  Oh,  my  eggs ! '  says  Huldy.  i  I'm  afraid  he's 
smashed  'em !  ' 

"  And  sure  enough,  there  they  was,  smashed  flat 
enough  under  the  stone. 

" '  111  have  him  killed,'  said  the  parson :  4  we 
won't  have  such  a  critter  'round.' 


68  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  But  the  parson,  he  slep*  on't,  and  then  didn't  do 
it :  he  only  come  out  next  Sunday  with  a  tip-top 
sermon  on  the  '  'Riginal  Cuss '  that  was  pronounced 
on  things  in  gineral,  when  Adam  fell,  and  showed 
how  every  thing  was  allowed  to  go  contrary  ever 
yinee.  There  was  pig-weed,  and  pusley,  and  Cana- 
dy  thistles,  cut- worms,  and  bag- worms,  and  canker- 
worms,  to  say  nothin'  of  rattlesnakes.  The  doctor 
made  it  very  impressive  and  sort  o'  improvin' ;  but 
Huldy,  she  told  me,  goin'  home,  that  she  hardly 
could  keep  from  laughin'  two  or  three  times  in  the 
sermon  when  she  thought  of  old  Tom  a  standin'  up 
with  the  corn-basket  on  his  back. 

"  Wai,  next  week  Huldy  she  jist  borrowed  the  min 
ister's  horse  and  side-saddle,  and  rode  over  to  South 
Parish  to  her  Aunt  Bascome's,  — Widder  Bascome's, 
you  know,  that  lives  there  by  the  trout-brook,  —  and 
got  a  lot  o'  turkey-eggs  o'  her,  and  come  back  and  set 
a  hen  on  'em,  and  said  nothin' ;  and  in  good  time  there 
was  as  nice  a  lot  o'  turkey-chicks  as  ever  ye  see. 

"  Huldy  never  said  a  word  to  the  minister  about  his 
experiment,  and  he  never  said  a  word  to  her ;  but  he 
sort  o'  kep'  more  to  his  books,  and  didn't  take  it  on 
him  to  advise  so  much. 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  69 

"  But  not  long  arter  he  took  it  into  his  head  that 
Htildy  ought  to  have  a  pig  to  be  a  fattin'  with  the 
buttermilk.  Mis'  Pipperidge  set  him  up  to  it ;  and 
jist  then  old  Tim  Bigelovv,  out  to  Juniper  Hill,  told 
him  if  he'd  call  over  he'd  give  him  a  little  pig. 

"  So  he  sent  for  a  man,  and  told  him  to  build  a  pig 
pen  right  out  by  the  well,  and  have  it  all  ready  when 
he  came  home  with  his  pig. 

"  Huldy  she  said  she  wished  he  might  put  a  curb 
round  the  well  out  there,  because  in  the  dark,  some 
times,  a  body  might  stumble  into  it ;  and  the  parson, 
he  told  him  he  might  do  that. 

"  Wai,  old  Aikin,  the  carpenter,  he  didn't  come  till 
most  the  middle  of  the  arternoon ;  and  then  he  sort  o' 
idled,  so  that  he  didn't  get  up  the  well-curb  till  sun 
down  ;  and  then  he  went  off  and  said  he'd  come  and 
do  the  pig-pen  next  day. 

"  Wai,  arter  dark,  Parson  Carryl  he  driv  into  the 
yard,  full  chizel,  with  his  pig.  He'd  tied  up  his 
mouth  to  keep  him  from  squeelin' ;  and  he  see  what 
he  thought  was  the  pig-pen,  —  he  was  rather  nea  r- 
sighted,  —  and  so  he  ran  and  threw  piggy  over  ;  and 
down  he  dropped  into  the  water,  and  the  ministei 


70  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

put  out  his    horse    and   pranced  off  into  the    house 
quite  delighted. 

"  '  There,  Huldy,  I've  got  you  a  nice  little  pig.' 
"  4  Dear  me  ! '  says  Huldy :  '  where  have  you  put 
him?' 

" '  Why,  out  there  in  the  pig-pen,  to  be  sure.' 
"  '  Oh,  dear  me  ! '  says  Huldy :    4  that's  the  well- 
curb  ;  there  ain't  no  pig-pen  built,'  says  she. 

"  '  Lordy  massy  ! '  says  the  parson :  4  then  I've 
thrown  the  pig  in  the  well ! ' 

"  Wai,  Huldy  she  worked  and  worked,  and  finally 
she  fished  piggy  out  in  the  bucket,  but  he  was  dead 
as  .a  door-nail;  and  she  got  him  out  o' the  way 
quietly,  and  didn't  say  much ;  and  the  parson,  he  took 
to  a  great  Hebrew  book  in  his  study ;  and  says  he, 
4  Huldy,  I  ain't  much  in  temporals,'  says  he.  Huldy 
says  she  kind  o'  felt  her  heart  go  out  to  him,  he  was 
so  sort  o'  meek  and  helpless  and  lamed ;  and  says  she, 
'  Wai,  Parson  Carryl,  don't  trouble  your  head  no 
more  about  it ;  I'll  see  to  things  ; '  and  sure  enough, 
a  week  arter  there  was  a  nice  pen,  all  ship-shape,  and 
two  little  white  pigs  that  Huldy  bought  with  the 
««oriey  for  the  butter  she  sold  at  the  store. 


Pve  thrown  the  pig  in  the  well.'1''  —  Page  70. 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  71 

"  '  Wai,  Huldy,'  said  the  parson,  '  you  are  a  most 
amazin'  child:  you  don't  say  nothin',  but  you  do 
more  than  most  folks.' 

"  Arter  that  the  parson  set  sich  store  by  Huldy  that 
he  come  to  her  and  asked  her  about  every  thing,  and 
it  was  amazin'  how  every  thing  she  put  her  hand  to 
prospered.  Huldy  planted  marigolds  and  larkspurs, 
pinks  and  carnations,  all  up  and  down  the  path  to  the 
front  door,  and  trained  up  mornin'  glories  and  scar 
let-runners  round  the  windows.  And  she  was  always 
a  gettin'  a  root  here,  and  a  sprig  there,  and  a  seed 
from  somebody  else :  for  Huldy  was  one  o'  them  that 
has  the  gift,  so  that  ef  you  jist  give  'em  the  leastest 
sprig  of  any  thing  they  make  a  great  bush  out  of  it 
right  away ;  so  that  in  six  months  Huldy  had  roses 
and  geraniums  and  lilies,  sich  as  it  would  a  took  a 
gardener  to  raise.  The  parson,  he  took  no  notice  at 
fust ;  but  when  the  yard  was  all  ablaze  with  flowers  he 
used  to  come  and  stand  in  a  kind  o'  maze  at  the  front 
door,  and  say,  '  Beautiful,  beautiful :  why,  Huldy, 
I  never  see  any  thing  like  it.'  And  then  when  her 
work  was  done  arternoons,  Huldy  would  sit  with  her 
sewin'  in  the  porch,  and  sing  and  trill  away  till  she'd 


72  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

draw  the  meadow-larks  and  the  bobolinks,  and  the 
orioles  to  answer  her,  and  the  great  big  elm-tree 
overhead  would  get  perfectly  rackety  with  the  birds  ; 
and  the  parson,  settin'  there  in  his  study,  would  git 
to  kind  o'  dreamin'  about  the  angels,  and  golden 
harps,  and  the  New  Jerusalem  ;  but  he  wouldn't 
speak  a  word,  'cause  Huldy  she  was  jist  like  them 
wood-thrushes,  she  never  could  sing  so  well  when 
she  thought  folks  was  hearin'.  Folks  noticed,  about 
this  time,  that  the  parson's  sermons  got  to  be  like 
Aaron's  rod,  that  budded  and  blossomed :  there  was 
things  in  'em  about  flowers  and  birds,  and  more  'spe 
cial  about  the  music  o'  heaven.  And  Huldy  she 
noticed,  that  ef  there  was  a  hymn  run  in  her  head 
while  she  was  'round  a  workin'  the  minister  was 
sure  to  give  it  out  next  Sunday.  You  see,  Huldy 
was  jist  like  a  bee :  she  always  sung  when  she  was 
workin',  and  you  could  hear  her  trillin',  now  down 
in  the  corn-patch,  while  she  was  pickin'  the  corn ; 
and  now  in  the  buttery,  while  she  was  workin'  the 
butter;  and  now  she'd  go  singin'  down  cellar,  and 
then  she'd  be  singin'  up  over  head,  so  that  she 
seemed  to  fill  a  house  chock  full  o'  music. 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  73 

"  Huldy  was  so  sort  o'  chipper  and  fair  spoken,  that 
she  got  the  hired  men  all  under  her  thumb:  they 
come  to  her  and  took  her  orders  jist  as  meek  as  so 
many  calves  ;  and  she  traded  at  the  store,  and  kep' 
the  accounts,  and  she  hed  her  eyes  everywhere,  and 
tied  up  all  the  ends  so  tight  that  there  want  no  get- 
tin'  'round  her.  She  wouldn't  let  nobody  put  nothin' 
off  on  Parson  Carryl,  'cause  he  was  a  minister.  Hul 
dy  was  allers  up  to  anybody  that  wanted  to  make  a 
hard  bargain ;  and,  afore  he  knew  jist  what  he  was 
about,  she'd  got  the  best  end  of  it,  and  everybody 
said  that  Huldy  was  the  most  capable  gal  that  they'd 
ever  traded  with. 

"  Wai,  come  to  the  meetin'  of  the  Association,  Mis' 
Deakin  Blodgett  and  Mis'  Pipperidge  come  callin'  up 
to  the  parson's,  all  in  a  stew,  and  offerin'  their  ser 
vices  to  get  the  house  ready ;  but  the  doctor,  he  jist 
thanked  'em  quite  quiet,  and  turned  ?em  over  to  Hul 
dy  ;  and  Huldy  she  told  'em  that  she'd  got  every 
thing  ready,  and  showed  'em  her  pantries,  and  her 
cakes  and  her  pies  and  her  puddin's,  and  took  'em 
all  over  the  house  ;  and  they  went  peekin'  and  pokin', 
openin'  cupboard-doors,  and  lookin'  into  drawers  ;  and 


74  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

they  couldn't  find  so  much  as  a  thread  out  o'  the 
way,  from  garret  to  cellar,  and  so  they  went  off  quite 
discontented.  Arter  that  the  women  set  a  new 
trouble  a  brewin'.  Then  they  begun  to  talk  that  it 
was  a  year  now  since  Mis'  Carryl  died ;  and  it  r'ally 
wasn't  proper  such  a  young  gal  to  be  stay  in'  there, 
who  everybody  could  see  was  a  settin'  her  cap  for 
the  minister. 

"  Mis'  Pipperidge  said,  that,  so  long  as  she  looked 
on  Huldy  as  the  hired  gal,  she  hadn't  thought  much 
about  it;  but  Huldy  was  railly  takin'  on  airs  as  an 
equal,  and  appearin'  as  mistress  o'  the  house  in  a 
way  that  would  make  talk  if  it  went  on.  And  Mis' 
Pipperidge  she  driv  'round  up  to  Deakin  Abner 
Snow's,  and  down  to  Mis'  'Lijah  Perry's,  and  asked 
them  if  they  wasn't  afraid  that  the  way  the  parson 
and  Huldy  was  a  goin'  on  might  make  talk.  And 
they  said  they  hadn't  thought  on't  before,  but  now, 
come  to  think  on't,  they  was  sure  it  would  ;  and  they 
all  went  and  talked  with  somebody  else,  and  asked 
them  if  they  didn't  think  it  would  make  talk.  So 
come  Sunday,  between  meetin's  there  warn't  noth- 
in'  else  talked  about ;  and  Huldy  saw  folks  a  noddin' 


THE  MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  75 

and  a  winkin',  and  a  lookin'  arter  her,  and  she  begun 
to  feel  drefful  sort  o'  disagreeable.  Finally  Mis' 
Sawin  she  says  to  her,  4  My  dear,  didn't  you,  never 
think  folk  would  talk  about  you  and  the  minister  ?  ' 

"  '  No :  why  should  they  ? '  says  Huldy,  quite  in 
nocent. 

"  Wai,  dear,'  says  she,  '  I  think  it's  a  shame ;  but 
they  say  you're  tryin'  to  catch  him,  and  that  it's  so 
bold  and  improper  for  you  to  be  courtin'  of  him  right 
in  his  own  house,  —  you  know  folks  will  talk,  —  I 
thought  I'd  tell  you  'cause  I  think  so  much  of  you,' 
says  she. 

"  Huldy  was  a  gal  of  spirit,  and  she  despised  the 
talk,  but  it  made  her  drefful  uncomfortable ;  and 
when  she  got  home  at  night  she  sat  down  in  the  mor- 
nin'-glory  porch,  quite  quiet,  and  didn't  sing  a  word. 

"  The  minister  he  had  heard  the  same  thing  from 
one  of  his  deakins  that  day ;  and,  when  he  saw  Huldy 
so  kind  o'  silent,  he  says  to  her,  '  Why  don't  you 
sing,  my  child  ?  ' 

"  He  hed  a  pleasant  sort  o'  way  with  him,  the  minis 
ter  had,  and  Huldy  had  got  to  likin'  to  be  with  him  , 
and  it  all  come  over  her  that  perhaps  she  ought  to  go 


76  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

away ;  and  her  throat  kind  o'  filled  up  so  she  couldn't 
hardly  speak ;  and,  says  she,  '  I  can't  sing  to-night.' 

"  Says  he,  4  You  don't  know  how  much  good  you're 
singin'  has  done  me,  nor  how  much  good  you  have 
done  me  in  all  ways,  Huldy.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to 
show  my  gratitude.' 

"  '  O  sir  I '  says  Huldy,  '  is  it  improper  for  me  to  be 
here  ? ' 

"'No,  dear,'  says  the  minister,  'but  ill-natured 
folks  will  talk  ;  but  there  is  one  way  we  can  stop  it, 
Huldy  —  if  you  will  marry  me.  You'll  make  me 
very  happy,  and  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  make  you  happy. 
Will  you?' 

"  Wai,  Huldy  never  told  me  jist  what  she  said  to 
the  minister,  —  gals  never  does  give  you  the  particu 
lars  of  them  'are  things  jist  as  you'd  like  'em,  —  only  I 
know  the  upshot  and  the  hull  on't  was,  that  Huldy 
she  did  a  consid'able  lot  o'  clear  starchin'  and  ironin' 
the  next  two  days ;  and  the  Friday  o'  next  week  the 
minister  and  she  rode  over  together  to  Dr.  Lothrop's 
in  Old  Town ;  and  the  doctor,  he  jist  made  'em  man 
and  wife,  '  spite  of  envy  of  the  Jews,'  as  the  hymn 
says.  Wai,  you'd  better  believe  there  was  a  stailn' 


THE   MINISTER'S   HOUSEKEEPER.  77 

and  a  wonderin'  next  Sunday  mornin'  when  the  sec 
ond  bell  was  a  tollin',  and  the  minister  walked  up  the 
broad  aisle  with  Huldy,  all  in  white,  arm  in  arm 
with  him,  and  he  opened  the  minister's  pew,  and 
handed  her  in  as  if  she  was  a  princess ;  for,  you  see, 
Parson  Carryl  come  of  a  good  famity,  and  was  a 
born  gentleman,  and  had  a  sort  o'  grand  way  o'  bein' 
polite  to  women-folks.  Wai,  I  guess  there  was  a 
rus'lin'  among  the  bunnets.  Mis'  Pipperidge  gin  a 
great  bounce,  like  corn  poppin'  on  a  shovel,  and  her 
eyes  glared  through  her  glasses  at  Huldy  as  if  they'd 
a  sot  her  afire ;  and  everybody  in  the  meetin'  house 
was  a  starin',  I  tell  yew.  But  they  couldn't  none  of 
'em  say  nothin'  agin  Huldy's  looks ;  for  there  wa'n't 
a  crimp  nor  a  frill  about  her  that  wa'n't  jis'  so;  and 
her  frock  was  white  as  the  driven  snow,  and  she  had 
her  bunnet  all  trimmed  up  with  white  ribbins ;  and 
all  the  fellows  said  the  old  doctor  had  stole  a  march, 
and  got  the  handsomest  gal  in  the  parish. 

"  Wai,  arter  meetin'  they  all  come  'round  the  par 
son  and  Huldy  at  the  door,  shakin'  hands  and  laugh- 
in'  ;  for  by  that  time  they  was  about  agreed  that 
they'd  got  to  let  putty  well  alone. 


78 


OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 


"  '  Why,  Parson  Carryl,'  says  Mis'  Deakin  Blod- 
gett,  '  how  you've  come  it  over  us.' 

" 4  Yes,'  says  the  parson,  with  a  kind  o'  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  '  I  thought,'  says  he,  'as  folks  wanted  to 
talk  about  Huldy  and  me,  I'd  give  'em  some  thin' 
wuth  talkin'  about.'  " 


THE  WIDOW'S   BANDBOX. 


'ORDY  massy!  Stick  yer  hat  into  the 
nor'east,  Horace,  and  see  'f  ye  can't 
stop  out  this  'ere  wind.  I'm  e'eny 
most  used  up  with  it." 

So  spake  Sam  Lawson,  contemplating 
mournfully  a  new  broad-brimmed  straw 
hat  in  which  my  soul  was  rejoicing. 
It  was  the  dripping  end  of  a  sour  November  after 
noon,  which  closed  up  a  " spell  o'  weather"  that  had 
been  steadily  driving  wind  and  rain  for  a  week  past; 
and  we  boys  sought  the  shelter  and  solace  of  his 
shop,  and,  opening  the  door,  let  in  the  wind  afore 
said. 

Sam  had  been  all  day  in  one  of  his  periodical  fits 
of  desperate  industry.     The  smoke  and  sparks   had 

79 


80  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

been  seen  flying  out  of  his  shop-chimney  in  a  frantic 
manner ;  and  the  blows  of  his  hammer  had  resounded 
with  a  sort  of  feverish  persistence,  intermingled  with 
a  doleful  wailing  of  psalm-tunes  of  the  most  lugubri 
ous  description. 

These  fits  of  industry  on  Sam's  part  were  an  afflic 
tion  to  us  boys,  especially  when  they  happened  to 
come  on  Saturday :  for  Sam  was  as  much  a  part  of 
our  Saturday-afternoon  calculations  as  if  we  had  a 
regular  deed  of  property  in  him ;  and  we  had  been 
all  day  hanging  round  his  shop,  looking  in  from  time 
to  time,  in  the  vague  hope  that  he  would  propose 
something  to  brighten  up  the  dreary  monotony  of  a 
holiday  in  which  it  had  been  impossible  to  go  any 
where  or  do  any  thing. 

"  Sam,  ain't  you  coming  over  to  tell  us  some 
stories  to-night?  " 

"  Bless  your  soul  and  body,  boys  !  life  ain't  made 
to  be  spent  tellin'  stories.  Why,  I  shall  hev  to  be 
up  here  workin'  till  arter  twelve  o'clock,"  said  Sam, 
who  was  suddenly  possessed  with  a  spirit  of  the 
most  austere  diligence.  "  Here  I  be  up  to  my  neck 
in  work,  —  things  kind  o'  comin'  in  a  heap  together. 


THE   WIDOWS   BANDBOX.  81 

There's  Mis'  Cap'n  Broad's  andirons,  she  sent  word 
she  must  have  'em  to-night ;  and  there's  Lady 
Lothrop,  she  wants  her  warmin'-pan  right  off ; 
they  can't  non'  on  'em  wait  a  minit  longer.  I've 
ben  a  drivin'  and  workin'  all  day  like  a  nigger-slave. 
Then  there  was  Jeduth  Pettybone,  he  brought  down 
them  colts  to-day,  and  I  worked  the  biggest  part  o' 
the  mornin'  shoein'  on  'em ;  and  then  Jeduth  he  said 
he  couldn't  make  change  to  pay  me,  so  there  wa'n't 
nothin'  comin'  in  for  't ;  and  then  Hepsy  she  kep'  a 
jawin'  at  me  all  dinner-time  'bout  that.  Why,  I 
warn't  to  blame  now,  was  I  ?  I  can't  make  every 
body  do  jest  right  and  pay  regular,  can  I  ?  So  ye 
see  it  goes,  boys,  gettin'  yer  bread  by  the  sweat  o' 
your  brow  ;  and  sometimes  sweatin'  and  not  gettin' 
yer  bread.  That  'ere's  what  I  call  the  cuss,  the 
'riginal  cuss,  that  come  on  man  for  hearkenin'  to  the 
voice  o'  his  wife,  —  that  'ere  was  what  did  it.  It  al- 
lers  kind  o'  riles  me  up  with  Mother  Eve  when  I 
think  on't.  The  women  hain't  no  bisness  to  fret  as 
they  do,  'cause  they  sot  this  'ere  state  o'  things  goin' 
in  the  fust  place." 

"  But,  Sam,  Aunt  Lois  and  Aunt  Nabby  are  both 


82  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STOKIES. 

going  over  to  Mis'  Mehitabel's  to  tea.  Now,  you 
just  come  over  and  eat  supper  with  us  and  tell  us  a 
story,  do." 

"  Gone  out  to  tea,  be  they  ?  "  said  Sam,  relaxing 
his  hammering,  with  a  brightening  gleam  stealing 
gradually  across  his  lanky  visage.  "  Wai,  that  'ere 
looks  like  a  providential  openin',  to  be  sure.  Wai,  I 
guess  I'll  come.  What's  the  use  o'  never  bavin'  a 
good  time  ?  Ef  you  work  yourself  up  into  shoe 
strings  you  don't  get  no  thanks  for  it,  and  things  in 
this  world's  'bout  as  broad  as  they  is  long :  the  wo 
men  '11  scold,  turn  'em  which  way  ye  will.  A  good 
mug  o'  cider  and  some  cold  victuals  over  to  the  Dea- 
kin's  '11  kind  o'  comfort  a  feller  up  ;  and  your  granny 
she's  sort  o'  merciful,  she  don't  rub  it  into  a  fellow 
all  the  time  like  Miss  Lois." 

"  Now,  let's  see,  boys,"  said  Sam,  when  a  comfort 
able  meal  of  pork  and  beans  had  been  disposed  of, 
and  a  mug  of  cider  was  set  down  before  the  fire  to 
warm.  "  I  s'pect  ye'll  like  to  hear  a  Down-East 
story  to-night." 

Of  course  we  did,  and  tumbled  over  each  other  in 
our  eagerness  to  get  the  nearest  place  to  the  narrator. 


THE   WIDOW'S   BANDBOX.  83 

Sam's  method  of  telling  a  story  was  as  leisurely  as 
that  of  some  modern  novel-writers.  He  would  take 
his  time  for  it,  and  proceed  by  easy  stages.  It  was 
like  the  course  of  a  dreamy,  slow-moving  river 
through  a  tangled  meadow-flat,  —  not  a  rush  nor  a 
bush  but  was  reflected  in  it ;  in  short,  Sam  gave  his 
philosophy  of  matters  and  things  in  general  as  he 
went  along,  and  was  especially  careful  to  impress  an 
edifying  moral. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  boys,  ye  know  I  was  born  down  to 
Newport,  —  there  where  it's  all  ships  and  shipping, 
and  sich.  My  old  mother  she  kep'  a  boardin'-house 
for  sailors  down  there.  Wai,  ye  see,  I  rolled  and 
tumbled  round  the  world  pretty  consid'able  afcre  I 
got  settled  down  here  in  Oldtown. 

"  Ye  see,  my  mother  she  wanted  to  bind  me  out  to 
a  blacksmith,  but  I  kind  o'  sort  o'  didn't  seem  to  take 
to  it.  It  was  kind  o'  hard  work,  and  boys  is  apt  to 
want  to  take  life  easy.  Wai,  I  used  to  run  off  to  the 
sea-shore,  and  lie  stretched  out  on  them  rocks  there, 
and  look  off  on  to  the  water ;  and  it  did  use  to  look 
so  sort  o'  blue  and  peaceful,  and  the  ships  come  a 
sailin'  in  and  out  so  sort  o'  easy  and  natural,  that  I 


84  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STOKIES. 

felt  as  if  that  are'd  be  jest  the  easiest  kind  o'  life  a 
fellow  could  have.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  get 
aboard  one  o'  them  ships,  and  be  off  seekin'  his 
fortin  at  t'other  end  o'  the  rainbow,  where  gold 
grows  on  bushes  and  there's  valleys  o'  diamonds. 

"  So,  nothin'  would  do  but  I  gin  my  old  mother 
the  slip ;  and  away  I  went  to  sea$  with  my  duds  tied 
up  in  a  han'kercher. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,  boys,  ef  ye  want  to  find  an  easy 
life,  don't  ye  never  go  to  sea.  I  tell  ye,  life  on  ship 
board  ain't  what  it  looks  to  be  on  shore.  I  hadn't 
been  aboard  more'n  three  hours  afore  I  was  the  sick 
est  critter  that  ever  ye  did  see  ;  and  I  tell  you,  I 
didn't  get  no  kind  o'  compassion.  Cap'ns  and  mates 
they  allers  thinks  boys  hain't  no  kind  o'  business  to 
have  no  bowels  nor  nothin',  and  they  put  it  on  'em 
sick  or  well.  It's  jest  a  kick  here,  and  a  cuff  there, 
and  a  twitch  by  the  ear  in  t'other  place  ;  one  a 
shovin'  on  'em  this  way,  and  another  hittin*  on  'em  a 
dip,  and  all  growlin'  from  mornin'  to  night.  I  be 
lieve  the  way  my  ears  got  so  long  was  bein'  hauled 
out  o'  my  berth  by  'em  :  that  'are's  a  sailor's  regular 
way  o'  wakin'  up  a  boy. 


THE   WIDOW'S  BANDBOX.  85 

"  Wai,  by  time  I  got  to  the  Penobscot  country,  all 
I  wanted  to  know  was  how  to  get  back  agin.  That 
'are's  jest  the  way  folks  go  all  their  lives,  boys.  It's 
all  fuss,  fuss,  and  stew,  stew,  till  ye  get  somewhere  ; 
and  then  it's  fuss,  fuss,  and  stew,  stew,  to  get  back 
agin  ;  jump  here  and  scratch  yer  eyes  out,  and  jump 
there  and  scratch  'em  in  agin,  —  that  'are's  life. 

"  Wai,  I  kind  o'  poked  round  in  Penobscot  coun 
try  till  I  got  a  berth  on  4  The  Brilliant '  that  was  lyin' 
at  Camden,  goin'  to  sail  to  Boston. 

"  Ye  see,  4  The  Brilliant '  she  was  a  tight  little  sloop 
in  the  government  service  :  'twas  in  the  war-times, 
ye  see,  and  Commodore  Tucker  that  is  now  (he  wa^ 
Cap'n  Tucker  then),  he  had  the  command  on  her,  — 
used  to  run  up  and  down  all  the  coast  takin'  observa 
tions  o'  the  British,  and  keepin'  his  eye  out  on  'ein 
and  givin'  on  'em  a  nip  here  and  a  clip  there,'  cordic 
as   he  got  a  good  chance.      Why,  your  grand'ther 
knew  old  Commodore  Tucker.     It  was  he  that  took 
Dr.  Franklin  over  Minister,  to  France,  and  dodged 
all  the  British  vessels,  right  in  the  middle  o'  the  war 
I  tell  you  that  'are  was  like  runnin'  through  the 
drops  in  a  thunder-shower.     He  got  chased  by  the 


86  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

British  ships  pretty  consid'able,  but  he  was  too  spry 
for  'em.  Arter  the  war  was  over,  Commodore 
Tucker  took  over  John  Adams,  our  fust  Minister  to 
England.  A  drefful  smart  man  the  Commodore  was, 
but  he  most  like  to  'a'  ben  took  in  this  'ere  time  I'm 
a  tellin'  ye  about,  and  all  'cause  he  was  sort  o'  soft 
hearted  to  the  women.  Tom  Toothacre  told  me  the 
story.  Tom  he  was  the  one  that  got  me  the  berth 
on  the  ship.  Ye  see,  I  used  to  know  Tom  at  New 
port  ;  and  once  when  he  took  sick  there  my  mother 
nussed  him  up,  and  that  was  why  Tom  was  friends 
with  me  and  got  me  the  berth,  and  kep'  me  warm  in 
it  too.  Tom  he  was  one  of  your  rael  Maine  boys, 
that's  hatched  out,  so  to  speak,  in  water  like  ducks. 
He  was  born  away  down  there  on  Harpswell  P'int ; 
and  they  say,  if  ye  throw  one  o'  them  Harpswell  babies 
into  the  sea,  hell  take  to  it  nateral,  and  swim  like  a 
cork:  ef  they  hit  their  heads  agin  a  rock  it  only 
dents  the  rock,  but  don't  hurt  the  baby.  Tom  he 
was  a  great  character  on  the  ship.  He  could  see 
further,  and  knew  more  'bout  wind  and  water,  than 
most  folks :  the  officers  took  Tom's  judgment,  and 
the  men  all  went  by  his  say.  My  mother  she  chalked 


THE  WIDOW'S  BANDBOX.  87 

a  streak  o'  good  luck  for  me  when  she  nussed  up 
Tom. 

"  Wai,  we  wus  a  lyin'  at  Camden  there,  one  arter- 
noon,  goin'  to  sail  for  Boston  that  night.  It  was  a 
sort  o'  soft,  pleasant  arternoon,  kind  o'  still,  and 
there  wa'n't  nothin'  a  goin'  on  but  jest  the  hens  a 
craw-crawin',  and  a  histin'  up  one  foot,  and  holdin'  it 
a  spell  'cause  they  didn't  know  when  to  set  it  down, 
and  the  geese  a  sissin'  and  a  pickin'  at  the  grass.  Ye 
see,  Camden  wasn't  nothin'  of  a  place,  —  'twas  jest 
as  if  somebody  had  emptied  out  a  pocketful  o'  houses 
and  forgot  'em.  There  wer'n't  nothin'  a  stirrin'  or 
goin'  on ;  and  so  we  was  all  took  aback,  when  'bout 
four  o'clock  in  the  arternoon  there  come  a  boat 
alongside,  with  a  tall,  elegant  lady  in  it,  all  dressed  in 
deep  mournin'.  She  rared  up  sort  o'  princess-like, 
and  come  aboard  our  ship,  and  wanted  to  speak  to 
Cap'n  Tucker.  Where  she  come  from,  or  what  she 
wanted,  or  where  she  was  goin'  to,  we  none  on  us 
knew :  she  kep'  her  veil  down  so  we  couldn't  get 
sight  o'  her  face.  All  was,  she  must  see  Cap'n 
Tucker  alone  right  away. 

"  Wai,  Cap'n  Tucker  he  was  like  the  generality 


88  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

o'  cap'ns.  He  was  up  to  'bout  every  thing  that  any 
man  could  do,  but  it  was  pretty  easy  for  a  woman  to 
come  it  over  him.  Ye  see,  cap'ns,  they  don't  see 
women  as  men  do  ashore.  They  don't  have  enough 
of  'em  to  get  tired  on  'em ;  and  every  woman's  an 
angel  to  a  sea-cap'n.  Anyway,  the  cap'n  he  took 
her  into  his  cabin,  and  he  sot  her  a  chair,  and  was 
her  humble  servant  to  command,  and  what  would 
she  have  of  him  ?  And  we  was  all  a  winkin',  and  a 
nudgin'  each  other,  and  a  peekin'  to  see  what  was  to 
come  o'  it.  And  she  see  it ;  and  so  she  asks,  in  a  sort 
o'  princess'  way,  to  speak  to  the  cap'n  alone ;  and  so 
the  doors  was  shut,  and  we  was  left  to  our  own  ideas, 
and  a  wonderin'  what  it  was  all  to  be  about. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  it  come  out  arterwards  all  about 
what  went  on  ;  and  things  went  this  way.  Jest  as 
soon  as  the  doors  was  shut,  and  she  was  left  alone 
with  the  cap'n,  she  busted  out  a  cryin'  and  a  sobbin' 
fit  to  break  her  heart. 

"  Wai,  the  cap'n  he  tried  to  comfort  her  up :  but 
no,  she  wouldn't  be  comforted,  but  went  on  a  weepin' 
and  a  wailin,'  and  a  wringin'  on  her  hands,  till  the 
poor  cap'n's  heart  was  a'most  broke ;  for  the  cap'n 


THE   WIDOW'S  BANDBOX.  89 

was  the  tenderest-hearted  critter  that  could  be,  and 
couldn't  bear  to  see  a  child  or  a  woman  in  trouble 
noways. 

"  '  O  cap'n ! '  said  she,  '  I'm  the  most  uufortunate 
woman.  I'm  all  alone  in  the  world,'  says  she,  '  and 
I  don't  know  what'll  become  of  me  ef  you  don't 
keep  me,'  says  she. 

"  Wai,  the  cap'n  thought  it  was  time  to  run  up  his 
colors  ;  and  so  says  he,  '  Ma'am,  I'm  a  married  man, 
and  love  my  wife,'  says  he,  '  and  so  I  can  feel  for  all 
women  in  distress,'  says  he. 

"  Oh,  well,  then ! '  says  she, '  you  can  feel  for  me,  and 
know  how  to  pity  me.  My  dear  husband's  just  died 
suddenly  when  he  was  up  the  river.  He  was  took 
with  the  fever  in  the  woods.  I  nussed  him  day  and 
night,'  says  she  ;  4  but  he  died  there  in  a  mis'able 
little  hut  far  from  home  and  friends,'  says  she ;  '  and 
I've  brought  his  body  down  with  me,  hopiri'  Provi 
dence  would  open  some  way  to  get  it  back  to  our 
home  in  Boston.  And  now,  cap'n,  you  must  help  me.* 

"  Then  the  cap'n  see  what  she  was  up  to :  and  he 
hated  to  do  it,  and  tried  to  cut  her  off  o'  askin' ;  but 
she  wa'n't  to  be  put  off. 


90  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  '  Now,  cap'n,'  says  she,  4ef  you'll  take  me  and 
the  body  o'  my  husband  on  board  to-night,  I'd  be 
v\  iliin'  to  reward  you  to  any  amount.  Money  would 
he  no  object  to  me,'  says  she. 

u  Wai,  you  see,  the  cap'n  he  kind  o'  hated  to  do  it ; 
and  he  hemmed  and  hawed,  and  he  tried  to  'pologize. 
He  said  'twas  a  government  vessel,  and  he  didn't 
know  as  he  had  a  right  to  use  it.  He  said  sailors 
was  apt  to  be  superstitious  ;  and  he  didn't  want  'em 
to  know  as  there  was  a  corpse  on  board. 

"  4  Wai,'  says  she,  '  why  need  they  know  ?  '  For, 
you  see,  she  was  up  to  every  dodge ;  and  she  said 
she'd  come  along  with  it  at  dusk,  in  a  box,  and  have 
it  just  carried  to  a  state-room,  and  he  needn't  tell 
nobody  what  it  was. 

"  Wai,  Cap'n  Tucker  he  hung  off;  and  he  tried  his 
best  to  persuade  her  to  have  a  funeral,  all  quiet, 
there  at  Camden.  He  promised  to  get  a  minister, 
and  'tend  to  it,  and  wait  a  day  till  it  was  all  over, 
and  then  take  her  on  to  Boston  free  gratis.  But 
'twas  all  no  go.  She  wouldn't  hear  a  word  to  't. 
And  she  reeled  off  the  talk  to  him  by  the  yard. 
And,  when  talk  failed,  she  took  to  her  water-works 


THE  WIDOW'S   BANDBOX.  91 

again,  till  finally  the  cap'n  said  his  resolution  was 
clean  washed  away,  and  he  jest  give  up  hook  and 
line  ;  and  so  'twas  all  settled  and  arranged,  that, 
when  evening  come,  she  was  to  be  alongside  with  her 
boat,  and  took  aboard. 

"  When  she  come  out  o'  the  cap'n's  room  to  go  off, 
1  see  Tom  Toothacre  a  watchin'  on  her.  He  stood 
there  by  the  railin's  a  shavin'  up  a  plug  o'  baccy  to 
put  in  his  pipe.  He  didn't  say  a  word ;  but  he  sort  o' 
took  the  measure  o'  that  'are  woman  with  his  eye, 
and  kept  a  follerin'  on  her. 

"  She  had  a  fine  sort  o'  lively  look,  carried  her 
head  up  and  shoulders  back,  and  stepped  as  if  she 
had  steel  springs  in  her  heels. 

" '  Wai,  Tom,  what  do  ye  say  to  her  ?  '  says  Ben 
Bowdin. 

44 '  I  don't  say  nothin','  says  Tom,  and  he  lit  his 
pipe  ;  'tain't  my  busness,'  says  he. 

"  '  Wai,  what  do  you  think?  '  says  Ben.  Tom  gin 
a  hist  to  his  trousers. 

u  4  My  thoughts  is  my  own,'  says  he  ;  '  and  I  cal 
culate  to  keep  'em  to  myself,'  says  he.  And  then  he 
jest  walked  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  watched  the 


92  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

woman  a  gettin'  ashore.     There  was  a  queer  kind  o 
look  in  Tom's  eye. 

44  Wai,  the  cap'n  he  was  drefful  sort  o'  oneasy 
arter  she  was  gone.  He  had  a  long  talk  in  the  cabin 
with  Mr.  More,  the  fust  officer ;  aud  there  was  a  sort 
o'  stir  aboard  as  if  somethin'  was  a  goin'  to  happen, 
we  couldn't  jest  say  what  it  was. 

"  Sometimes  it  seems  as  if,  when  things  is  goin'  to 
happen,  a  body  kind  o'  feels  'em  comin'  in  the  air. 
We  boys  was  all  that  way :  o'  course  we  didn't 
know  nothin'  'bout  what  the  woman  wanted,  or  what 
she  come  for,  or  whether  she  was  comin'  agin  ;  'n 
fact,  we  didn't  know  nothin'  about  it,  and  yet  we  sort 
o'  expected  suthin'  to  come  o'  it ;  and  suthin'  did 
come,  sure  enough. 

"  Come  on  night,  jest  at  dusk,  we  see  a  boat  com 
in'  alongside  ;  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  lady  in 
it. 

"  c  There,  she's  comin'  agin,'  says  I  to  Tom  Tooth 
acre. 

" 4  Yes,  and  brought  her  baggage  with  her,'  says 
Tom ;  and  he  p'inted  down  to  a  long,  narrow  pine 
box  that  was  in  the  boat  beside  her. 


THE  WIDOW'S  BANDBOX.  93 

"  Jest  then  the  cap'n  called  on  Mr.  More,  and  he 
called  on  Tom  Toothacre ;  and  among  'em  they  low 
ered  a  tackle,  and  swung  the  box  aboard,  and  put  it 
in  the  state-room  right  alongside  the  cap'n's  cabin. 

"  The  lady  she  thanked  the  cap'n  and  Mr. 
More,  and  her  voice  was  jest  as  sweet  as  any  night 
ingale  ;  and  she  went  into  the  state-room  arter  they 
put  the  body  in,  and  was  gone  ever  so  long  with  it. 
The  cap'n  and  Mr.  More  they  stood  a  whisperin'  to 
each  other,  and  every  once  in  a  while  they'd  kind  o' 
nod  at  the  door  where  the  lady  was. 

"  Wai,  by  and  by  she  come  out  with  her  han'ker- 
chief  to  her  eyes,  and  come  on  deck,  and  begun  talk- 
in'  to  the  cap'n  and  Mr.  More,  and  a  wishin'  all 
kinds  o'  blessin's  on  their  heads. 

"  Wai,  Tom  Toothacre  didn't  say  a  word,  good  or 
bad ;  but  he  jest  kep'  a  lookin'  at  her,  watchin'  her  as 
a  cat  watches  a  mouse.  Finally  we  up  sail,  and  started 
with  a  fair  breeze.  The  lady  she  kep'  a  walkin'  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  and  every  time  she  turned  on 
her  heel,  I  saw  Tom  a  lookin'  arter  her  and  kind  o' 
noddin'  to  himself. 

"  '  What  makes  you  look  arter  her  so,  Tom  ?  '  says 
I  to  him. 


94  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STOKIES. 

"  '  'Cause  I  thiak  she  wants  lookin'  arter,'  says 
Tom.  'What's  more,'  says  he, 'if  the  cap'n  don't 
look  sharp  arter  her  the  devil  '11  have  us  all  afore 
mornin.'  I  tell  ye,  Sam,  there's  mischief  under  them 
petticuts.' 

"  '  Why,  what  do  ye  think  ?  '  says  I. 

"  '  Think  !  I  don't  think,  I  knows  !  That  'are's 
no  gal,  nor  widder  neither,  if  my  name's  Tom  Tooth- 
acre  !  Look  at  her  walk  ;  look  at  the  way  she  turns 
on  her  heel !  I've  been  a  watchin'  on  her.  There 
ain't  no  woman  livin'  with  a  step  like  that ! '  says  he. 

" '  Wai,  who  should  the  critter  be,  then  ? '  says  I. 

"  '  Wai,'  says  Tom,  '  ef  that  'are  ain't  a  British 
naval  officer,  I  lose  my  bet.  I've  been  used  to  the 
ways  on  'em,  and  I  knows  their  build  and  their  step.' 

"  '  And  what  do  you  suppose  she's  got  in  that  long 
box  ? '  says  I. 

"'What  has  she  got?'  says  Tom.  'Wai,  folks 
might  say  none  o'  my  bisness  ;  but  I  s'pects  it'll  turn 
out  some  o'  my  bisness,  and  yourn  too,  if  he  don't 
look  sharp  arter  it,'  says  Tom.  '  It's  no  good,  that 
'are  box  ain't.' 

" '  Why  don't  you  speak  to  Mr.  More  ?  '  says  I. 


THE   WIDOW'S  BANDBOX.  95 

"  4  Wai,  you  see  she's  a  chipperin'  round  and  amak 
in'  herself  agreeable  to  both  on  'em,  you  see  ;  she 
don't  mean  to  give  nobody  any  chance  for  a  talk  with 
'em  ;  but  I've  got  my  eye  on  her,  for  all  that.  You 
see  I  hain't  no  sort  o'  disposition  to  sarve  out  a 
time  on  one  o'  them  British  prison-ships,'  says  Tom 
Toothacre.  '  It  might  be  almighty  handy  for  them 
British  to  have  "  The  Brilliant "  for  a  coast-vessel,' 
says  he  ;  '  but,  ye  see,  it  can't  be  spared  jest  yet. 
So,  madam,'  says  he,  '  I've  got  my  eye  on  you.' 

"  Wai,  Tom  was  as  good  as  his  word  ;  for  when  Mr. 
More  came  towards  him  at  the  wheel,  Tom  he  up 
and  says  to  him,  4  Mr.  More,'  says  he,  ;  that  'are  big 
box  in  the  state-room  yonder  wants  lookin'  into.' 

"  Tom  was  a  sort  o'  privileged  character,  and  had 
a  way  o'  speakin'  up  that  the  officers  took  in  good 
part,  'cause  they  knew  he  was  a  fust-rate  hand. 

"  Wai,  Mr.  More  he  looks  mysterious  ;  and  says  he, 
Tom,  do  the  boys  know  what's  in  that  'are  box  ?  ' 

"  4 1  bet  they  don't,'  says  Tom.  '  If  they  had,  you 
wouldn't  a  got  'em  to  help  it  aboard.' 

u  '  Wai,  you  see,  poor  woman,'  says  Mr.  More  to 
Tom,  '  she  was  so  distressed.  She  wanted  to  get 


96  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

her  husband's  body  to  Boston  ;  and  there  wa'n't  no 
other  way,  and  so  the  cap'n  let  it  come  aboard. 
He  didn't  want  the  boys  to  suspect  what  it  really 
was.' 

" 4  Husband's  body  be  hanged ! '  said  Tom.  '  Guess 
that  'are  corpse  ain't  so  dead  but  what  there'll  be  a 
resurrection  afore  mornin',  if  it  ain't  looked  arter,' 
says  he. 

" '  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Tom  ? '  said  Mr. 
More,  all  in  a  blue  maze. 

"  c  I  mean,  that  'are  gal  that's  ben  a  switchin'  her 
petticuts  up  and  down  our  deck  ain't  no  gal  at  all. 
That  are's  a  British  officer,  Mr.  More.  You  give  my 
duty  to  the  cap'n,  and  tell  him  to  look  into  his  wid- 
der's  bandbox,  and  see  what  he'll  find  there.' 

"  Wai,  the  mate  he  went  and  had  a  talk  with  the 
cap'n ;  and  they  'greed  between  'em  that  Mr.  More 
was  to  hold  her  in  talk  while  the  cap'n  went  and 
took  observations  in  the  state-room. 

"  So,  down  the  cap'n  goes  into  the  state-room  to 
give  a  look  at  the  box.  Wai,  he  finds  the  state 
room  door  all  locked  to  be  sure,  and  my  lady  had  the 
key  in  her  pocket ;  but  then  the  cap'n  he  had  a  mas- 


THE  WIDOW'S  BANDBOX.  97 

ter  key  to  it ;  and  so  he  puts  it  in,  and  opens  the  door 
quite  softly,  and  begins  to  take  observations. 

"  Sure  enough,  he  finds  that  the  screws  had  been 
drawed  from  the  top  o'  the  box,  showin'  that  the 
widder  had  been  a  tinkerin'  on't  when  they  thought 
she  was  a  cryin'  over  it ;  and  then,  lookin'  close,  he 
sees  a  bit  o'  twine  goin'  from  a  crack  in  the  box  out 
o'  the  winder,  and  up  on  deck. 

"  Wai,  the  cap'n  he  kind  o'  got  in  the  sperit  o'  the 
thing ;  and  he  thought  he'd  jest  let  the  widder  play 
her  play  out,  and  see  what  it  would  come  to.  So  he 
jest  calls  Tom  Toothacre  down  to  him  and  whis 
pered  to  him.  4  Tom,'  says  he,  '  you  jest  crawl  un 
der  the  berth  in  that  'are  state-room,  and  watch  that 
'are  box.'  And  Tom  said  he  would. 

li  So  Tom  creeps  under  the  berth,  and  lies  there 
still  as  a  mouse ;  and  the  cap'n  he  slips  out  and  turns 
the  key  in  the  door,  so  that  when  madam  comes 
down  she  shouldn't  s'pect  nothin'. 

"  Putty  soon,  sure  enough,  Tom  heard  the  lock 
rattle,  and  the  young  widder  come  in ;  and  then  he 
heard  a  bit  o'  conversation  between  her  and  the 
corpse. 


98  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  '  What  time  is  it  ? '  come  in  a  kind  o'  hoarse 
whisper  out  o'  the  box. 

"  '  Well,  'bout  nine  o'clock,'  says  she. 

44 '  How  long  afore  you'll  let  me  out  ?  '  says  he. 

"  4  Oh  !  you  must  have  patience,'  says  she,  '  till 
they're  all  gone  off  to  sleep  ;  when  there  ain't  but 
one  man  up.  I  can  knock  him  down,'  says  she,  4  and 
then  I'll  pull  the  string  for  you.' 

"  4  The  devil  you  will,  ma'am ! '  says  Tom  to  him 
self,  under  the  berth. 

"  4  Well,  it's  darned  close  here,'  says  the  fellow  in 
the  box.  He  didn't  say  darned,  boys ;  but  he  said 
a  wickeder  word  that  I  can't  repeat,  noways,"  said 
Sam,  in  a  parenthesis :  "  these  'ere  British  officers 
was  drefful  swearin'  critters. 

"  4  You  must  have  patience  a  while  longer,'  says 
the  lady,  *  till  I  pull  the  string.'  Tom  Toothacre  lay 
there  on  his  back  a  laughin'. 

"  4  Is  every  thing  goin'  on  right  ?  '  says  the  man  in 
the  box. 

" 4  All  straight,'  says  she :  '  there  don't  none  of  'em 
suspect.' 

" 4  You    bet,'   says   Tom    Toothacre,   under    the 


;  And  gin  him  a  regular  bear's  hug."  —  Page  99. 


THE  WIDOW'S   BANDBOX.  99 

berth  ;  and  he  said  he  had  the  greatest  mind  to  catch 
the  critter  by  the  feet  as  she  was  a  standin'  there, 
but  somehow  thought  it  would  be  better  fun  to  see 
the  thing  through  'cording  as  they'd  planned  it. 

u  Wai,  then  she  went  off  switchin'  and  mincin'  up 
to  the  deck  agin,  and  a  flirtin'  with  the  cap'n  ;  for 
you  see  'twas  'greed  to  let  'em  play  their  play  out. 

"  Wai,  Tom  he  lay  there  a  waitin' ;  and  he  waited 
and  waited  and  waited,  till  he  'most  got  asleep  ;  but 
finally  he  heard  a  stirrin'  in  the  box,  as  if  the  fellah 
was  a  gettin'  up.  Tom  he  jest  crawled  out  still  and 
kerful,  and  stood  up  tight  agin  the  wall.  Putty 
soon  he  hears  a  grunt,  and  he  sees  the  top  o'  the  box 
a  risin'  up,  and  a  man  jest  gettin'  out  on't  mighty 
still. 

"  Wai,  Tom  he  waited  till  he  got  fairly  out  on  to 
the  floor,  and  had  his  hand  on  the  lock  o'  the  door, 
when  he  jumps  on  him,  and  puts  both  arms  round 
him,  and  gin  him  a  regular  bear's  hug. 

"  «  Why,  what's  this  ?  '  says  the  man. 

"  l  Guess  ye'll  find  out>  darn  ye,'  says  Tom  Tooth- 
acre.  4  So,  ye  wanted  our  ship,  did  ye  ?  Wai,  ye 
jest  can't  have  our  ship,'  says  Tom,  says  he ;  and  I 


tOO  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

tell  you  he  jest  run  that  'are  fellow  up  stairs  lickety- 
split,  for  Tom  was  strong  as  a  giant. 

"  The  fust  thing  they  saw  was  Mr.  More  hed  got 
the  widder  by  both  arms,  and  was  tying  on  'em  be 
hind  her.  '  Ye  see,  madam,  your  game's  up,'  says 
Mr.  More,  '  but  we'll  give  ye  a  free  passage  to  Bos 
ton,  tho','  says  he :  'we  wanted  a  couple  o'  prisoners 
about  these  days,  and  you'll  do  nicely.' 

"  The  fellers  they  was  putty  chopfallen,  to  be 
sure,  and  the  one  in  women's  clothes  'specially : 
'cause  when  he  was  found  out,  he  felt  foolish  enough 
in  his  petticuts ;  but  they  was  both  took  to  Boston, 
and  given  over  as  prisoners. 

"  Ye  see,  come  to  look  into  matters,  they  found 
these  two  young  fellows,  British  officers,  had  formed 
a  regular  plot  to  take  Cap'n  Tucker's  vessel,  and  run 
it  into  Halifax ;  and  ye  see,  Cap'n  Tucker  he  was  so 
sort  o'  spry,  and  knew  all  the  Maine  coast  so  well, 
and  was  so  'cute  at  dodgin'  in  and  out  all  them  little 
bays  and  creeks  and  places  all  'long  shore,  that  he 
made  the  British  considerable  trouble,  'cause  wher 
ever  they  didn't  want  him,  that's  where  he  was  sure 
to  be. 


THE  WIDOW'S   BANDBOX.  101 

"  So  they'd  hatched  up  this  'ere  plan.  There  was 
one  or  two  British  sailors  had  been  and  shipped 
aboard  4  The  Brilliant '  a  week  or  two  aforehand,  and 
'twas  suspected  they  was  to  have  helped  in  the  plot 
if  things  had  gone  as  they  laid  out ;  but  I  tell  you, 
when  the  fellows  see  which  way  the  cat  jumped, 
they  took  pretty  good  care  to  say  that  they  hadn't 
nothin'  to  do  with  it.  Oh,  no,  by  no  manner  o' 
means !  Wai,  o'  course,  ye  know,  it  couldn't  be 
proved  on  'em,  and  so  we  let  it  go. 

"  But  I  tell  you,  Cap'n  Tucker  he  felt  pretty 
cheap  about  his  widder.  The  worst  on't  was,  they 
do  say  Ma'am  Tucker  got  hold  of  it ;  and  you  might 
know  if  a  woman  got  hold  of  a  thing  like  that  she'd 
use  it  as  handy  as  a  cat  would  her  claws.  The  wo 
men  they  can't  no  more  help  hittin'  a  fellow  a  clip 
and  a  rap  when  they've  fairly  got  him,  than  a  cat 
when  she's  ketched  a  mouse ;  and  so  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  the  Commodore  heard  something  about 
his  widder  every  time  he  went  home  from  his  v'y- 
ages  the  longest  day  he  had  to  live.  I  don't  know 
nothin'  'bout  it,  ye  know :  I  only  kind  o'  jedge  by 
what  looks,  as  human  natur'  goes. 


102  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  But,  Lordy  massy  !  boys,  *t  wa'n't  nothin'  to  be 
'shamed  of  in  the  cap'n.  Folks  '11  have  to  answer  for 
wus  things  at  the  last  day  than  tryin'  to  do  a  kind 
ness  to  a  poor  widder,  now,  I  tell  you.  It's  better  to 
be  took  in  doin'  a  good  thing,  than  never  try  to  do 
good ;  and  it's  my  settled  opinion,"  said  Sam,  taking 
up  his  mug  of  cider  and  caressing  it  tenderly, 
"  it's  my  humble  opinion,  that  the  best  sort  o'  folks  is 
the  easiest  took  in,  'specially  by  the  women.  I 
reely  don't  think  I  should  a  done  a  bit  better  my 
self." 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY. 


'NE    of    our     most    favorite     legendary 
resorts  was  the  old  barn. 

Sam  Lawson  preferred  it  on  many 
accounts.  It  was  quiet  and  retired, 
that  is  to  say>  at  such  distance  from  his 
own  house,  that  he  could  not  hear  if 
Hepsy  called  ever  so  loudly,  and  farther 
off  than  it  would  be  convenient  for  that  industrious 
and  painstaking  woman  to  follow  him.  Then  there 
was  the  soft  fragrant  cushion  of  hay,  on  which  his 
length  of  limb  could  be  easily  bestowed. 

Our  barn  had  an  upper  loft  with  a  swinging  outer 
door  that  commanded  a  view  of  the  old  mill,  the 
waterfall,  and  the  distant  windings  of  the  river,  with 
its  grassy  green  banks,  its  graceful  elm  draperies,  and 

103 


104  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

its  white  flocks  of  water-lilies  ;  and  then  on  this 
Saturday  afternoon  we  had  Sam  all  to  ourselves.  It 
was  a  drowsy,  dreamy  October  day,  when  the  hens 
were  lazily  "  craw,  crawing,"  in  a  soft,  conversational 
undertone  with  each  other,  as  they  scratched  and 
picked  the  hay-seed  under  the  barn  windows.  Below 
in  the  barn  black  Csesar  sat  quietly  hatchelling  flax, 
sometimes  gurgling  and  giggling  to  himself  with  an 
overflow  of  that  interior  jollity  with  which  he 
seemed  to  be  always  full.  The  African  in  New 
England  was  a  curious  contrast  to  everybody  around 
him  in  the  joy  and  satisfaction  that  he  seemed  to  feel 
in  the  mere  fact  of  being  alive.  Every  white  person 
was  glad  or  sorry  for  some  appreciable  cause  in  the 
past,  present,  or  future,  which  was  capable  of  being 
definitely  stated ;  but  black  Csesar  was  in  an  eternal 
giggle  and  frizzle  and  simmer  of  enjoyment  for 
which  he  could  give  no  earthly  reason :  he  was  an 
"  embodied  joy,"  like  Shelley's  skylark. 

"  Jest  hear  him,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  looking  pen- 
bively  over  the  hay-mow,  and  strewing  hayseed  down 
on  his  wool.  "  How  that  'are  critter  seems  to  tickle 
and  laugh  all  the  while  'bout  no  thin'.  Lordy  massy ! 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY.  105 

he  don't  seem  never  to  consider  that  '  this  life's  a 
dream,  an  empty  show.' ' 

"  Look  here,  Sam,"  we  broke  in,  anxious  to  cut 
short  a  threatened  stream  of  morality,  "  you  prom 
ised  to  tell  us  about  Capt.  Kidd,  and  how  you  dug 
for  his  money." 

44  Did  I,  now  ?  Wai,  boys,  that  'are  history  o' 
Kidd's  is  a  warnin'  to  fellers.  Why,  Kidd  had  pious 
parents  and  Bible  and  sanctuary  privileges  when  he 
was  a  boy,  and  yet  come  to  be  hanged.  It's  all  in 
this  'ere  song  I'm  a  goin'  to  sing  ye.  Lordy  massy  ! 
I  wish  I  had  my  bass-viol  now.  —  Caesar,"  he  said, 
calling  down  from  his  perch,  "  can't  you  strike  the 
pitch  o'  « Cap'n  Kidd,'  on  your  fiddle  ?  " 

Caesar's  fiddle  was  never  far  from  him.  It  was,  in 
fact,  tucked  away  in  a  nice  little  nook  just  over  the 
manger;  and  he  often  caught  an  interval  from  his 
work  to  scrape  a  dancing-tune  on  it,  keeping  time 
with  his  heels,  to  our  great  delight. 

A  most  wailing  minor-keyed  tune  was  doled  forth, 
which  seemed  quite  refreshing  to  Sam's  pathetic  vein, 
as  he  sang  in  his  most  lugubrious  tones,  — 


106  OLDTOWN  FIEESIDE  STORIES. 

" « My  name  was  Robert  Kidd 
As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
My  name  was  Robert  Kidd  ; 
God's  laws  I  did  forbid, 
And  so  wickedly  I  did, 
As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed.' 

"Now  ye  see,  boys,  he's  a  goin'  to  tell  how  he 
abused  his  religious  privileges ;  just  hear  now :  — 

"  '  My  father  taught  me  well, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed ; 
My  father  taught  me  well 
To  shun  the  gates  of  hell, 
But  yet  I  did  rebel, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed. 

" '  He  put  a  Bible  in  my  hand, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed ; 
He  put  a  Bible  in  my  hand, 
And  I  sunk  it  in  the  sand 
Before  I  left  the  strand, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed.' 

"  Did  ye  ever  hear  o'  such  a  hardened,  contrary 
critter,  boys  ?  It's  awful  to  think  on.  Wai,  ye  see 
that  'are's  the  way  fellers  allers  begin  the  ways  o' 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY.  107 

sin,  by  turnin'  their  backs  on  the  Bible  and  the  ad 
vice  o'  pious  parents.  Now  hear  what  he  coine 
to:  — 

" «  Then  I  murdered  William  More, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed  ; 
I  murdered  William  More, 
And  left  him  in  his  gore, 
Not  many  leagues  from  shore, 
As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed. 

"  *  To  execution  dock 

I  must  go,  I  must  go. 
To  execution  dock, 
While  thousands  round  me  flock, 
To  see  me  on  the  block, 

I  must  go,  I  must  go/ 

"  There  was  a  good  deal  more  on't,"  said  Sam, 
pausing,  "  but  I  don't  seem  to  remember  it ;  but  it's 
real  solemn  and  affectin'." 

"  Who  was  Capt.  Kidd,  Sam  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Wai,  he  was  an  officer  in  the  British  navy,  and 
he  got  to  bein'  a  pirate :  used  to  take  ships  and  sink 
em,  and  murder  the  folks  ;  and  so  they  say  he  got 


108  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

no  end  o'  money, — gold  and  silver  and  precious 
stones,  as  many  as  the  wise  men  in  the  East.  But 
ye  see,  what  good  did  it  all  do  him  ?  He  couldn't 
use  it,  and  dar'sn't  keep  it ;  so  he  used  to  bury  it  in 
spots  round  here  and  there  in  the  awfullest  heathen 
way  ye  ever  heard  of.  Why,  they  say  he  allers  used 
to  kill  one  or  two  men  or  women  or  children  of  his 
prisoners,  and  bury  with  it,  so  that  their  sperits 
might  keep  watch  on  it  ef  anybody  was  to  dig  arter 
it.  That  'are  thing  has  been  tried  and  tried  and 
tried,  but  no  man  nor  mother's  son  on  'em  ever  got  a 
cent  that  dug.  'Twas  tried  here'n  Oldtown;  and 
they  come  pretty  nigh  gettin'  on't,  but  it  gin 
'em  the  slip.  Ye  see,  boys,  its  the  Devil's  money, 
and  he  holds  a  pretty  tight  grip  on't."  . 

"  Well,  how  was  it  about  digging  for  it?  Tell  us, 
did  you  do  it  ?  Were  you  there  ?  Did  you  see  it  ? 
And  why  couldn't  they  get  it  ? "  we  both  asked 
eagerly  and  in  one  breath. 

"  Why,  Lordy  massy  I  boys,  your  questions  tumbles 
over  each  other  thick  as  martins  out  o'  a  martin-box. 
Now,  you  jest  be  moderate  and  let  alone,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it  from  the  begmnin'  to  the  end.  I 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY.  109 

didn't  railly  have  no  hand  in't,  though  I  was  know- 
in'  to  't,  as  I  be  to  most  things  that  goes  on  round 
here ;  but  my  conscience  wouldn't  railly  a  let  me  start 
on  no  sich  undertakin'. 

"  Wai,  the  one  that  fust  sot  the  thing  a  goin'  wa^ 
old  Mother  Hokum,  that  used  to  live  up  in  thai 
little  tumble-down  shed  by  the  cranberry-pond  uj, 
beyond  the  spring  pastur'.  They  had  a  putty  bad 
name,  them  Hokums.  How  they  got  a  livin'  nobody 
knew  ;  for  they  didn't  seem  to  pay  no  attention  to 
raisin'  nothin'  but  childun,  but  the  duce  knows, 
there  was  plenty  o'  them.  Their  old  hut  was  like 
a  rabbit-pen :  there  was  a  tow-head  to  every  crack 
and  cranny.  'Member  what  old  Caesar  said  once 
when  the  word  come  to  the  store  that  old  Hokum 
had  got  twins.  '  S'pose  de  Lord  knows  best,'  says 
Csesar,  ;  but  I  thought  dere  was  Hokums  enough 
afore.'  Wai,  even  poor  workin'  industrious  folks 
like  me  finds  it's  hard  gettin'  along  when  there's  so 
many  mouths  to  feed.  Lordy  massy !  there  don't 
never  seem  to  be  no  end  on't,  and  so  it  ain't  wonder 
ful,  come  to  think  on't,  ef  folks  like  them  Hokums 
gets  tempted  to  help  along  in  ways  that  ain't  quite 

10 


110  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

right.  Anyhow,  folks  did  use  to  think  that  old 
Hokum  was  too  sort  o'  familiar  with  their  wood-piles 
long  in  the  night,  though  they  couldn't  never  prove 
it  on  him ;  and  when  Mother  Hokum  come  to  houses 
round  to  wash,  folks  use  sometimes  to  miss  pieces, 
here  and  there,  though  they  never  could  find  'em  on 
her  ;  then  they  was  allers  a  gettin'  in  debt  here  and  a 
gettin'  in  debt  there.  Why,  they  got  to  owin'  two  dol 
lars  to  Joe  Gidger  for  butcher's  meat.  Joe  was  sort 
o'  good-natured  and  let  'em  have  meat,  'cause  Hokum 
he  promised  so  fair  to  pay ;  but  he  couldn't  never  get 
it  out  o'  him.  'Member  once  Joe  walked  clear  up  to 
the  cranberry-pond  arter  that  'are  two  dollars ;  but 
Mother  Hokum  she  see  him  a  comin'  jest  as  he  come 
past  the  juniper-bush  on  the  corner.  She  says  to 
Hokum,  '  Get  into  bed,  old  man,  quick,  and  let  me 
tell  the  story,'  says  she.  So  she  covered  him  up ; 
and  when  Gidger  come  in  she  come  up  to  him,  and 
says  she,  '  Why,  Mr.  Gidger,  I'm  jest  ashamed  to 
see  ye :  why,  Mr.  Hokum  was  jest  a  comin'  down  to 
pay  ye  that  'are  money  last  week,  but  ye  see  he  was 
took  down  with  the  small-pox  '  —  Joe  didn't  hear 
no  more  :  he  just  turned  round,  and  he  streaked  it 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY.  Ill 

out  that  'are  door  with  his  coat-tails  flyin'  out 
straight  ahind  him ;  and  old  Mother  Hokum  she  jest 
stood  at  the  window  holdin'  her  sides  and  laughin' 
fit  to  split,  to  see  him  run.  That  'are's  jest  a  sample 
o'  the  ways  them  Hokums  cut  up. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  boys,  there's  a  queer  kind  o'  rock 
down  on  the  bank  'o  the  river,  that  looks  sort  o'  like 
a  grave-stone.  The  biggest  part  on't  is  sunk  down 
under  ground,  and  it's  pretty  well  growed  over  with 
blackberry-vines  ;  but,  when  you  scratch  the  bushes 
away,  they  used  to  make  out  some  queer  marks  on 
that  'are  rock.  They  was  sort  o'  lines  and  crosses ; 
and  folks  would  have  it  that  them  was  Kidd's  private 
marks,  and  that  there  was  one  o'  the  places  where 
he  hid  his  money. 

"  Wai,  there's  no  sayin'  fairly  how  it  come  to  be 
thought  so  ;  but  fellers  used  to  say  so,  and  they  used 
sometimes  to  talk  it  over  to  the  tahvern,  and  kind  o' 
wonder  whether  or  no,  if  they  should  dig,  they 
wouldn't  come  to  suthin'. 

"Wai,  old  Mother  Hokum  she  heard  on't,  and 
she  was  a  sort  o'  enterprisin'  old  crittur :  fact  was, 
she  had  to  be,  'cause  the  young  Hokums  was  jest  like 


112  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

bag-worms,  the  more  they  growed  the  more  they  eat, 
and  I  expect  she  found  it  pretty  hard  to  fill  theii 
mouths  ;  and  so  she  said  ef  there  was  any  thing 
under  that  'are  rock,  they'd  as  good's  have  it  as  the 
Devil ;  and  so  she  didn't  give  old  Hokum  no  peace 
o'  his  life,  but  he  must  see  what  there  was  there. 

"  Wai,  I  was  with  'em  the  night  they  was  a  talk- 
in'  on't  up.  Ye  see,  Hokum  he  got  thirty-seven 
cents'  worth  o'  lemons  and  sperit.  I  see  him  goin' 
by  as  I  was  out  a  splittin'  kindlin's ;  and  says  he, 
*  Sam,  you  jest  go  'long  up  to  our  house  to-night,' 
says  he  :  '  Toddy  Whitney  and  Harry  Wiggin's  corn- 
in'  up,  and  we're  goin1  to  have  a  little  suthin'  hot,' 
says  he ;  and  he  kind  o'  showed  me  the  lemons  and 
sperit.  And  I  told  him  I  guessed  I  would  go  'long. 
Wai,  I  kind  o'  wanted  to  see  what  they'd  be  up  to, 
ye  know. 

"  Wai,  come  to  find  out,  they  was  a  talkin'  about 
Cap'n  Kidd's  treasures,  and  layin'  out  how  they 
should  get  it,  and  a  settin'  one  another  on  with  gret 
stories  about  it. 

"  '  I've  heard  that  there  was  whole  chists  full  o 
gold  guineas,'  says  one. 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S   MONEY.  11,'J 

" '  And  Fve  heard  o'  gold  bracelets  and  ear-rings 
and  finger-rings  all  sparklin'  with  diamonds/  says 
another. 

"  '  Maybe  it's  old  silver  plate  from  some  o'  them 
old  West  Indian  grandees,'  says  another. 

"  '  Wai,  whatever  it  is,'  says  Mother  Hokum,  i  I 
want  to  be  into  it,'  says  she. 

"  '  Wai,  Sam,  won't  you  jine  ?  '  says  they. 

"  4  Wai,  boys,'  says  I,  4 1  kind  o'  don't  feel  jest  like 
j'inin'.  I  sort  o'  ain't  clear  about  the  rights  on't : 
seems  to  me  it's  mighty  nigh  like  goin'  to  the  Devil 
for  money.' 

" 4  Wai,'  says  Mother  Hokum,  c  what  if  'tis  ? 
Money's  money,  get  it  how  ye  will ;  and  the  Devil's 
money  '11  buy  as  much  meat  as  any.  I'd  go  to  the 
Devil,  if  he  gave  good  money.' 

"  '  Wai,  I  guess  I  wouldn't,'  says  I.  c  Don't  you 
'member  the  sermon  Parson  Lothrop  preached  about 
hastin'  to  be  rich,  last  sabba'  day  ?  ' 

"  '  Parson  Lothrop  be  hanged  ! '  says  she.  'Wai, 
now,'  says  she,  '  I  like  to  see  a  parson  with  his  silk 
stocking  and  great  gold-headed  cane,  a  lollopin'  on 
his  carriage  behind  his  fat,  prancin'  hosses,  comin'  ic 


114  OLDTOWX 


meetin'  to  preach  to  us  poor  folks  not  to  want  to  be 
rich  !  How'd  he  like  it  to  have  forty-'leven  children, 
and  nothin'  to  put  onto  'em  or  into  'em,  I  wonder  ? 
Guess  if  Lady  Lothrop  had  to  rub  and  scrub,  and 
wear  her  fingers  to  the  bone  as  I  do,  she'd  want  to 
be  rich  ;  and  I  guess  the  parson,  if  he  couldn't  get  a 
bellyful  for  a  week,  would  be  for  diggin'  up  Kidd's 
money,  or  doing  'most  any  thing  else  to  make  the  pot 
bile.' 

**  *  Wai,'  says  I,  '  I'll  kind  o'  go  with  ye,  boys,  and 
sort  o'  see  how  tilings  turn  out  ;  but  I  guess  I  won't 
take  no  shere  in't,'  says  I. 

"  Wai,  they  got  it  all  planned  out.  They  was  to 
wait  till  the  full  moon,  and  then  they  was  to  get 
Primus  King  to  go  with  'em  and  help  do  the  diggin'. 
Ye  see,  Hokum  and  Toddy  Whitney  and  Wiggin  are 
all  putty  softly  fellers,  and  hate  dreffully  to  work  ; 
and  I  tell  you  the  Kidd  money  ain't  to  be  got  without 
a  pretty  tough  piece  o'  diggin'.  Why,  it's  jest  like 
diggin'  a  well  to  get  at  it.  Now,  Primus  King  was 
the  master  hand  for  diggin'  wells,  and  so  they  said 
they'd  get  him  by  givin1  on  him  a  shere. 

"  Harry  Wiggin  he  didn't  want  no  nigger  a  sherin 


CAPTAIN   KIDD'S  MONEY.  11." 

in  it,  he  said  ;  but  Toddy  and  Hokum  they  said  that 
when  there  was  such  stiff  diggin'  to  be  done,  they 
didn't  care  if  they  did  go  in  with  a  nigger. 

"  Wai,  Wiggin  he  said  he  hadn't  no  objection  to 
havin'  the  nigger  do  the  diggin,'  it  was  tlwriiC  the 
profits  he  objected  to. 

"  '  Wai,'  says  Hokum, 4  you  can't  get  him  without,' 
says  he.  '  Primus  knows  too  much,'  says  he  :  '  you 
can't  fool  him.'  Finally  they  'greed  that  they  Avas  to 
give  Primus  twenty  dollars,  and  shere  the  treasure 
'mong  themselves. 

"  Come  to  talk  with  Primus,  he  wouldn't  stick  in  a 
spade,  unless  they'd  pay  him  aforehand.  Ye  see,  Pri 
mus  was  up  to  'em  ;  he  knowed  about  Gidger,  and 
there  waVt  none  on  ?em  that  was  particular  good 
pay  ;  and  so  they  all  jest  hed  to  rake  and  scrape,  and 
pay  him  down  the  twenty  dollars  among  'em ;  and 
they  'greed  for  the  fust  full  moon,  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night,  the  9th  of  October. 

"  Wai,  ye  see  I  had  to  tell  Hepsy  I  was  goin'  out  to 
watch.  Wai,  so  I  was ;  but  not  jest  in  the  way  she 
took  it :  but,  Lordy  massy  !  ;i  feller  has  to  tell  his  wife 
su  thin'  to  keep  her  quiet,  ye  know,  'specially  Hepsy. 


116  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  Wai,  wal,  of  all  the  moonlight  nights  that  ever  1 
did  see,  I  never  did  see  one  equal  to  that.  Why, 
you  could  see  the  color  o'  every  thing.  I  'member  I 
lould  see  how  the  huckleberry-bushes  on  the  rock 
ivas  red  as  blood  when  the  moonlight  shone  through 
em  ;  'cause  the  leaves,  you  see,  had  begun  to  turn. 

"  Goin'  on  our  way  we  got  to  talkin'  about  the 
aperits. 

" '  I  ain't  afraid  on  'em,'  says  Hokum.  '  What 
harm  can  a  sperit  do  me  ?  '  says  he.  '  I  don't  care  ef 
there's  a  dozen  on  'em  ; '  and  he  took  a  swig  at  his 
bottle. 

"  '  Oh  !  there  ain't  no  sperits,'  says  Harry  Wiggin. 
4  That  'are  talk's  all  nonsense  ; '  and  he  took  a  swig 
at  his  bottle. 

"  4  Wal,'  says  Toddy, 4 1  don't  know  'bout  that  'are. 
Me  and  Ike  Sanders  has  seen  the  sperits  in  the  Cap'n 
Brown  house.  We  thought  we'd  jest  have  a  peek 
into  the  window  one  night ;  and  there  was  a  whole 
flock  o'  black  colts  without  no  heads  on  come  rushin' 
on  us  and  knocked  us  flat.' 

"  '  I  expect  you'd  been  at  the  tahvern,'  said  Hokum. 

"  '  Wal,  yes,  we  had ;  but  them  was  sperits :  we 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY.  117 

wa'n't  drunk,  now ;  we  was  jest  as  sober  as  ever  we 
was.' 

"  '  Wai,  they  won't  get  away  my  money,'  says  Pri 
mus,  for  I  put  it  safe  away  in  Dinah's  teapot  afore  I 
come  out ; '  and  then  he  showed  all  his  ivories  from 
ear  to  ear.  '  I  think  all  this  'are's  sort  o'  foolishness,' 
says  Primus. 

"'Wai,'  says  I, 'boys,  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  have  no 
part  or  lot  in  this  'ere  matter,  but  I'll  jest  lay  it  off  to 
you  how  it's  to  be  done.  Ef  Kicld's  money  is  under 
this  rock,  there's  sperits  that  watch  it,  and  you 
mustn't  give  'em  no  advantage.  There  mustn't  be  a 
word  spoke  from  the  time  ye  get  sight  o'  the  treas 
ure  till  ye  get  it  safe  up  on  to  firm  ground,'  says  I. 
4  Ef  ye  do,  it'll  vanish  right  out  o'  sight.  I've  talked 
with  them  that  has  dug  down  to  it  and  seen  it ; 
but  they  allers  lost  it,  'cause  they'd  call  out  and 
say  suthin' ;  and  the  minute  they  spoke,  away  it 
went.' 

"  Wai,  so  they  marked  off  the  ground ;  and  Pri 
mus  he  begun  to  dig,  and  the  rest  kind  o'  sot  round. 
Tt  was  so  still  it  was  kind  o?  solemn.  Ye  see,  it  was 
past  twelve  o'clock,  and  every  critter  in  Oldtown 


118  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

was  asleep  ;  and  there  was  two  whippoor wills  on  the 
great  Cap'n  Brown  elm-trees,  that  kep'  a  answerin' 
each  other  back  and  forward  sort  o'  solitary  like  ;  and 
then  every  once  in  a  while  there'd  come  a  sort  o' 
strange  whisper  up  among  the  elm-tree  leaves,  jest 
as  if  there  was  talkin'  goin'  on ;  and  every  time  Pri 
mus  struck  his  spade  into  the  ground  it  sounded  sort 
o'  holler,  jest  as  if  he'd  been  a  diggin'  a  grave.  4  It's 
kind  o'  melancholy,'  says  I,  4  to  think  o'  them  poor 
critters  that  had  to  be  killed  and  buried  jest  to  keep 
this  'ere  treasure.  What  awful  things  '11  be  brought 
to  light  in  the  judgment  day !  Them  poor  critters 
they  loved  to  live  and  hated  to  die  as  much  as  any 
on  us ;  but  no,  they  hed  to  die  jest  to  satisfy  that 
critter's  wicked  will.  I've  heard  them  as  thought 
they  could  tell  the  Cap'n  Kidd  places  by  layin'  their 
ear  to  the  grqund  at  midnight,  and  they'd  hear 
groans  and  wailin's." 

"  Why,  Sam !  were  there  really  people  who  could 
tell  where  Kidd's  money  was  ?  "  I  here  interposed. 

"  Oh,  sartin  !  why,  yis.  There  was  Shebna  Bascom, 
he  was  one.  Shebna  could  always  tell  what  was  un 
der  the  earth.  He'd  cut  a  hazel-stick,  and  hold  it  in 


*'  They  dug  down  about  five  feet. "  —  Page  119. 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S   MONEY.  119 

his  hand  when  folks  was  wantin'  to  know  where  to 
dig  wells ;  and  that  'are  stick  would  jest  turn  in  his 
hand,  and  p'int  down  till  it  would  fairly  grind  the 
bark  off;  and  ef  you  dug  in  that  place  you  was  sure 
to  find  a  spring.  Oh,  yis  !  Shebna  he's  told  many 
where  the  Kidd  money  was,  and  been  with  'em  when 
they  dug  for  it ;  but  the  pester  on't  was  they  allers 
lost  it,  'cause  they  would  some  on  'em  speak  afore 
they  thought." 

"  But,  Sam,  what  about  this  digging  ?  Let's 
know  what  came  of  it,"  said  we,  as  Sam  appeared  to 
lose  his  way  in  his  story. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  they  dug  down  about  five  feet,  when 
Primus  he  struck  his  spade  smack  on  something  that 
chincked  like  iron. 

"  Wai,  then  Hokum  and  Toddy  Whitney  was  into 
the  hole  in  a  minute  :  they  made  Primus  get  out,  and 
they  took  the  spade,  'cause  they  wanted  to  be  sure  to 
come  on  it  themselves. 

"  Wai,  they  begun,  and  they  dug  and  he  scraped, 
and  sure  enough  they  come  to  a  gret  iron  pot  as  big 
as  your  granny's  dinner-pot,  with  an  iron  bale  to  it. 

"  Wai,  then  they  put  down  a  rope,  and  he  put  the 


120  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

rope  through  the  handle ;  then  Hokum  and  Toddy  they 
clambered  upon  the  bank,  and  all  on  'em  began  to  draw 
up  jest  as  still  and  silent  as  could  be.  They  drawed  and 
they  drawed,  till  they  jest  got  it  even  with  the  ground, 
when  Toddy  spoke  out  all  in  a  tremble,  '  There,' 
says  he,  '  weve  got  it ! '  And  the  minit  he  spoke 
they  was  both  struck  by  suthin  that  knocked  'em 
clean  over ;  and  the  rope  give  a  crack  like  a  pistol- 
shot,  and  broke  short  off;  and  the  pot  went  down, 
down,  down,  and  they  heard  it  goin',  jink,  jink,  jink ; 
and  it  went  way  down  into  the  earth,  and  the  ground 
closed  over  it ;  and  then  they  heard  the  screechin'est 
laugh  ye  ever  did  hear." 

"  I  want  to  know,  Sam,  did  you  see  that  pot  ?  "  I 
exclaimed  at  this  part  of  the  story. 

"  Wai,  no,  I  didn't.  Ye  see,  I  jest  happened  to 
drop  asleep  while  they  was  diggin',  I  was  so  kind  o' 
tired,  and  I  didn't  wake  up  till  it  was  all  over. 

"  I  was  waked  up,  'cause  there  was  consid'able  of 
a  scuffle ;  for  Hokum  was  so  mad  at  Toddy  for 
speakin',  that  he  was  a  fistin'  on  him ;  and  old  Pri 
mus  he  jest  haw-hawed  and  laughed.  '  Wai,  I  got 
my  money  safe,  anyhow,'  says  he. 


CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  MONEY.  121 

" 4  Wai,  come  to,'  says  I.  '  'Tain't  no  use  cryin' 
for  spilt  milk  :  you've  jest  got  to  turn  in  now  and  fill 
up  this  'ere  hole,  else  the  selectmen  '11  be  down  on 
ye.' 

" '  Wai,'  says  Primus,  '  I  didn't  engage  to  fill  up 
no  holes  ; '  and  he  put  his  spade  on  his  shoulder  and 
trudged  off. 

"  Wai,  it  was  putty  hard  work,  fillin'  in  that  hole  ; 
but  Hokum  and  Toddy  and  Wiggin  had  to  do  it, 
'cause  they  didn't  want  to  have  everybody  a  laughin' 
at  'em ;  and  I  kind  o'  tried  to  set  it  home  to  'em, 
showin'  on  'em  that  'twas  all  for  the  best. 

"  4  Ef  you'd  a  been  left  to  get  that  'are  money, 
there'd  a  come  a  cuss  with  it,'  says  I.  '  It  shows  the 
vanity  o'  hastin'  to  be  rich.' 

"  '  Oh,  you  shet  up  ! '  says  Hokum,  says  he.  '  You 
never  hasted  to  any  thing,'  says  he.  Ye  see,  he  was 
riled,  that's  why  he  spoke  so." 

"  Sam,"  said  we,  after  maturely  reflecting  over  the 
story,  "  what  do  you  suppose  was  in  that  pot  ?  " 

"  Lordy  massy  !  boys  :  ye  never  will  be  done  askin' 
questions.  Why,  how  should  I  know  ?  " 


«  MIS'  ELDERKIN'S  PITCHER." 


E  see,  boys,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  as  we 
were  gathering  young  wintergreen  on  a 
sunny  hillside  in  June,  —  "  ye  see,  folks 
don't  allers  know  what  their  marcies  is 
when  they  sees  'em.  Folks  is  kind  o' 
blinded ;  and,  when  a  providence  comes 
along,  they  don't  seem  to  know  how  to 
take  it,  and  they  growl  and  grumble  about  what  turns 
out  the  best  things  that  ever  happened  to  'em  in  their 
lives.  It 's  like  Mis'  Elderkin's  pitcher." 

"  What  about  Mis'  Elderkin's  pitcher  ?  "  said  both 
of  us  in  one  breath. 

"  Didn't  I  never  tell  ye,  now  ?  "  said  Sam :  "  why, 
I  wanter  know  ?  " 

No,  we  were  sure  he  never  had  told  us ;  and  Sain 
122 


"MIS'   ELDBRKIN'S  PITCHER."  123 

as  usual,  began  clearing  the  ground  by  a  thorough  in 
troduction,  with  statistical  expositions. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  Mis'  Elderkin  she  lives  now  over  to 
Sherburne  in  about  the  handsomest  house  in  Sher- 
burne,  —  a  high  white  house,  with  green  blinds  and 
white  pillars  in  front,  —  and  she  rides  out  in  her  own 
kerridge ;  and  Mr.  Elderkin,  he  's  a  deakin  in  the 
church,  and  a  colonel  in  the  malitia,  and  a  s'lectman, 
and  pretty  much  atop  every  thing  there  is  goin'  in 
Sherburne,  and  it  all  come  of  that  'are  pitcher." 

"  What  pitcher  ?  "  we  shouted  in  chorus. 

"  Lordy  massy !  that  'are  's  jest  what  I  'm  a  goin' 
to  tell  you  about ;  but,  ye  see,  a  feller's  jest  got  to 
make  a  beginnin'  to  all  things. 

"  Mis'  Elderkin  she  thinks  she's  a  gret  lady  nowa 
days,  I  s'pose ;  but  I  'member  when  she  was  Miry 
Brown  over  here  'n  Oldtown,  and  I  used  to  be  waitin' 
on  her  to  singing-school. 

"  Miry  and  I  was  putty  good  friends  along  in  them 
days,  —  we  was  putty  consid'able  kind  o'  intimate. 
Fact  is,  boys,  there  was  times  in  them  days  when  I 
thought  whether  or  no  I  wouldn't  take  Miry  myself," 
said  Sam,  his  face  growing  luminous  with  the  pleas- 


124    '  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

ing  idea  of  his  former  masculine  attractions  and  priv 
ileges.  "  Yis,"  lie  continued,  "  there  was  a  time 
when  folks  said  I  could  a  hed  Miry  ef  I'd  asked  her ; 
and  I  putty  much  think  so  myself,  but  I  didn't  say 
nothin' :  marriage  is  allers  kind  o'-ventursome  ;  an' 
Miry  had  such  up-and-down  kind  o'  ways,  I  was  sort 
o'  fraid  on  't. 

"  But  Lordy  massy !  boys,  you  mustn't  never  tell 
Hepsy  I  said  so,  'cause  she'd  be  mad  enough  to  bite  a 
shingle-nail  in  two.  Not  that  she  sets  so  very  gret 
by  me  neither  ;  but  then  women's  backs  is  allers  up 
ef  they  think  anybody  else  could  a  hed  you,  whether 
they  want  you  themselves  or  not. 

"  Ye  see,  Miry  she  was  old  Black  Hoss  John 
Brown's  da'ter,  and  lived  up  there  in  that  'are  big 
brown  house  by  the  meetin'-house,  that  "hes  the  red 
hollyhock  in  the  front  yard.  Miry  was  about  the 
handsomest  gal  that  went  into  the  singers'  seat  a 
Sunday. 

"  I  tell  you  she  wa'n't  none  o'  your  milk-and-sugar 
gals  neither,  —  she  was  'mazin'  strong  built.  She 
was  the  strongest  gal  in  her  arms  that  I  ever  see. 
Why,  I  've  seen  Miry  take  up  a  barrel  o'  flour,  and  lift 


"MIS'    ELDEBKIN'S  PITCHER.''  125 

it  right  into  the  kitchen ;  and  it  would  jest  make  the 
pink  come  into  her  cheeks  like  two  roses,  but  she 
never  seemed  to  mind  it  a  grain.  She  had  a  good 
strong  back  of  her  own,  and  she  was  straight  as  a 
poplar,  with  snappin'  black  eyes,  and  I  tell  you  there 
was  a  snap  to  her  tongue  too.  Nobody  never  got 
ahead  o'  Miry  ;  she'd  give  every  fellow  as  good  as  he 
sent,  but  for  all  that  she  was  a  gret  favorite. 

"  Miry  was  one  o'  your  briery,  scratchy  gals,  that 
seems  to  catch  fellers  in  thorns.  She  allers  fit  and 
flouted  her  beaux,  and  the  more  she  fit  and  flouted 
'em  the  more  they  'd  be  arter  her.  There  wa'n't  a 
gal  in  all  Oldtown  that  led  such  a  string  o'  fellers  ar 
ter  her ;  'cause,  you  see,  she'd  now  and  then  throw 
'em  a  good  word  over  her  shoulder,  and  then  they  'd 
all  fight  who  should  get  it,  and  she'd  jest  laugh  to 
see  'em  do  it. 

"  Why,  there  was  Tom  Sawin,  he  was  one  o'  her 
beaux,  and  Jim  Moss,  and  Ike  Paeon ;  and  there  was 
a  Boston  boy,  Tom  Beacon,  he  came  up  from  Cam 
bridge  to  rusticate  with  Parson  Lothrop  ;  he  thought 
he  must  have  his  say  with  Miry,  but  he  got  pretty 

well  come  up  with.     You  see,  he  thought  'cause  ho 
11* 


126  OLDTOWN  FIKESIDE  STORIES. 

was  Boston  born  that  he  was  kind  o'  aristocracy,  and 
bed  a  right  jest  to  pick  and  choose  'mong  country 
gals ;  but  the  way  he  got  come  up  with  by  Miry  was 
too  funny  for  any  thing." 

"  Do  tell  us  about  it,"  we  said,  as  Sam  made  an 
artful  pause,  designed  to  draw  forth  solicitation. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  Tom  Beacon  he  told  Ike  Bacon  about 
it,  and  Ike  he  told  me.  'Twas  this  way.  Ye  see, 
there  was  a  quiltin'  up  to  Mis'  Cap'n  Broad's,  and 
Tom  Beacon  he  was  there ;  and  come  to  goin'  home 
with  the  gals,  Tom  he  cut  Ike  out,  and  got  Miry  all 
to  himself;  and  'twas  a  putty  long  piece  of  a  walk 
from  Mis'  Cap'n  Broad's  up  past  the  swamp  and  the 
stone  pastur'  clear  up  to  old  Black  Hoss  John's. 

"  Wai,  Tom  he  was  in  high  feather  'cause  Miry 
took  him,  so  that  he  didn't  reelly  know  how  to  be 
have  ;  and  so,  as  they  was  walkin'  along  past  Parson 
Lothrop's  apple-orchard,  Tom  thought  he'd  try  bein' 
familiar,  and  he  undertook  to  put  his  arm  round  Miry. 
Wai,  if  she  didn't  jest  take  that  little  fellow  by  his 
two  shoulders  and  whirl  him  over  the  fence  into  the 
orchard  quicker  'n  no  time.  '  Why,'  says  Tom,  '  the 
fust  I  knew  I  was  lyin'  on  my  back  under  the  apple- 


"MIS'   ELDEEKIN'S  PITCHER."  127 

trees  lookin'  up  at  the  stars.'  Miry  she  jest  walked 
off  home  and  said  nothin'  to  nobody,  —  it  wa'n't  her 
way  to  talk  much  about  things;  and,  if  it  hedn't 
ben  for  Tom  Beacon  himself,  nobody  need  'a'  known 
nothin'  about  it.  Tom  was  a  little  fellow,  you  see, 
and  'mazin'  good-natured,  and  one  o'  the  sort  that 
couldn't  keep  nothin'  to  himself ;  and  so  he  let  the 
cat  out  o'  the  bag  himself.  Wai,  there  didn't  nobody 
think  the  worse  o'  Miry.  When  fellers  find  a  gal 
won't  take  saace  from  no  man,  they  kind  o'  respect 
her ;  and  then  fellers  allers  thinks  ef  it  hed  ben  them, 
now,  things  'd  'a'  been  different.  That's  jest  what 
Jim  Moss  and  Ike  Bacon  said :  they  said,  why  Tom 
Beacon  was  a  fool  not  to  know  better  how  to  get 
along  with  Miry,  —  they  never  had  no  trouble.  The 
fun  of  it  was,  that  Tom  Beacon  himself  was  more 
crazy  after  her  than  he  was  afore ;  and  they  say  he 
made  Miry  a  right  up-and-down  offer,  and  Miry  she 
jest  wouldn't  have  him. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  that  went  agin  old  Black  Hoss 
John's  idees :  old  Black  Hoss  was  about  as  close  as 
a  nut  and  as  contrairy  as  a  pipperage-tree.  You 
ought  to  'a'  seen  him.  Why,  his  face  was  all  a  per- 


128  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

feet  crisscross  o'  wrinkles.  There  wa'n't  a  spot  where 
you  could  put  a  pin  down  that  there  wa'n't  a  wrin 
kle  ;  and  they  used  to  say  that  he  held  on  to  every 
cent  that  went  through  his  ringers  till  he'd  pinched 
it  into  two.  You  couldn't  say  that  his  god  was  his 
belly,  for  he  hedn't  none,  no  more'n  an  old  file :  folks 
said  that  he'd  starved  himself  till  the  moon'd  shine 
through  him. 

"  Old  Black  Hoss  was  awfully  grouty  about  Miry's 
refusin'  Tom  Beacon,  'cause  there  was  his  houses  and 
lots  o'  land  in  Boston.  A  drefful  worldly  old  critter 
Black  Hoss  John  was :  he  was  like  the  rich  fool  in 
the  gospel.  Wai,  he's  dead  and  gone  now,  poor  crit 
ter,  and  what  good  has  it  all  done  him  ?  It's  as  the 
Scriptur'  says,  '  He  heapeth  up  riches,  and  knoweth 
not  who  shall  gather  them.' 

"  Miry  hed  a  pretty  hard  row  to  hoe  with  old  Black 
Hoss  John.  She  was  up  early  and  down  late,  and 
kep'  every  thing  a  goin'.  She  made  the  cheese  and 
made  the  butter,  and  between  spells  she  braided  her 
self  handsome  straw  bunnets,  and  fixed  up  her 
clothes ;  and  somehow  she  worked  i  t  so  when  she 
sold  her  butter  and  cheese  that  there  was  somethin' 


"MIS'   ELDERKIN'S  PITCHER."  129 

for  ribbins  and  flowers.  You  know  the  Scriptur' 
says,  '  Can  a  maid  forget  her  ornaments  ? '  Wai, 
Miry  didn't.  I  'member  I  used  to  lead  the  singin'  in 
them  days,  and  Miry  she  used  to  sing  counter,  so  we 
sot  putty  near  together  in  the  singers'  seats  ;  and  I 
used  to  think  Sunday  mornin's  when  she  come  to 
meetin'  in  her  white  dress  and  her  red  cheeks,  and 
her  bunnet  all  tipped  off  with  laylock,  that  'twas  for 
all  the  world  jest  like  sunshine  to  have  her  come 
into  the  singers'  seats.  Them  was  the  days  that  I 
didn't  improve  my  privileges,  boys,"  said  Sam,  sigh 
ing  deeply.  "  There  was  times  that  ef  I'd  a  spoke, 
there's  no  knowin'  what  mightn't  'a1  happened,  'cause, 
you  see,  boys,  I  was  better  lookin'  in  them  days  than 
I  be  now.  Now  you  mind,  boys,  when  you  grow  up, 
ef  you  get  to  waitin'  on  a  nice  gal,  and  you're  'most 
a  mind  to  speak  up  to  her,  don't  you  go  and  put  it 
off,  'cause,  ef  you  do,  you  may  live  to  repent  it. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  from  the  time  that  Bill  Elderkin 
come  and  took  the  academy,  I  could  see  plain 
enough  that  it  was  time  for  me  to  hang  up  my  fid 
dle.  Bill  he  used  to  set  in  the  singers'  seats,  too, 
and  he  would  have  it  that  he  sung  tenor.  He  no 


130  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

more  sung  tenor  than  a  skunk-blackbird ,  but  he 
made  b'lieve  he  did,  jest  to  git  next  to  Miry  in  the 
singers'  seats.  They  used  to  set  there  in  the  seats  a 
writinr  backward  and  forward  to  each  other  till  they 
tore  out  all  the  leaves  of  the  hymn-books,  and  the 
f>ingin'-books  besides.  Wai,  I  never  thought  that  the 
house  o'  the  Lord  was  jest  the  place  to  be  courtin' 
in,  and  I  used  to  get  consid'able  shocked  at  the  way 
things  went  on  atween  'em.  Why,  they'd  be  a 
writin'  all  sermon-time ;  and  I've  seen  him  a  lookin' 
at  her  all  through  the  long  prayer  in  a  way  that 
wa'n't  right,  considerin'  they  was  both  professors  of 
religion.  But  then  the  fact  was,  old  Black  Hoss 
John  was  to  blame  for  it,  'cause  he  never  let  'em 
have  no  chance  to  hum.  Ye  see,  old  Black  Hoss 
he  was  sot  agin  Elderkin  'cause  he  was  poor.  You 
see,  his  mother,  the  old  Widdah  Elderkin,  she  was 
jest  about  the  poorest,  peakedest  old  body  over  to 
Sherburne,  and  went  out  to  days'  works ;  and  Bill 
Elderkin  he  was  all  for  books  and  larnin',  and  old 
Black  Hoss  John  he  thought  it  was  just  shiftlessness : 
but  Miry  she  thought  he  was  a  genius ;  and  she  got 
it  sot  in  her  mind  that  he  was  goin'  to  be  President 
o'  the  United  States,  or  some  sich. 


"MIS'   ELDERKIN'S   PITCHER."  131 

"  Wai,  old  Black  Hoss  he  wa'n't  none  too  polite 
to  Miry's  beaux  in  gineral,  but  when  Elderkin  used 
to  come  to  see  her  he  was  snarlier  than  a  saw  :  he 
hadn't  a  good  word  for  him  noways;  and  he'd  rake 
up  the  fire  right  before  his  face  and  eyes,  and  rattle 
about  fastenin'  up  the  windows,  and  tramp  up  to 
bed,  and  call  dowti  the  chamber-stairs  to  Miry  to  go 
to  bed,  and  was  sort  o'  aggravatin'  every  way. 

"  Wai,  ef  folks  wants  to  get  a  gal  set  on  havin'  a 
man,  that  'ere's  the  way  to  go  to  work.  Miry  had 
a  consid'able  stiff  will  of  her  own  ;  and,  ef  she  didn't 
care  about  Tom  Beacon  before,  she  hated  him  now ; 
and,  if  she  liked  Bill  Elderkin  before,  she  was  clean 
gone  over  to  him  now.  And  so  she  took  to  goin'  to 
the  Wednesday-evenin'  lecture,  and  the  Friday-even- 
in'  prayer-meetin',  and  the  singin'-school,  jest  as 
regular  as  a  clock,  and  so  did  he  ;  and  arterwards 
they  allers  walked  home  the  longest  way.  Fathers 
may  jest  as  well  let  their  gals  be  courted  in  the 
house,  peaceable,  'cause,  if  they  can't  be  courted 
there,  they'll  find  places  where  they  can  be :  it's  jest 
human  natur'. 

"  Wul,  come  fall,  Elderkin  he  went  to  college  up  to 


132  OLDTOWN  FIEESIDE  STORIES. 

Brunswick ;  and  then  I  used  to  see  the  letters  as 
regular  »ip  to  the  store  every  week,  comin'  in  from 
Brunswick,  and  old  Black  Hoss  John  he  see  'em  too, 
and  got  a  way  of  droppin*  on  'em  in  his  coat-pocket 
when  he  come  up  to  the  store,  and  folks  used  to  say 
that  the  letters  that  went  into  his  coat-pocket  didn't 
get  to  Miry.  Anyhow,  Miry  she  says  to  me  one 
day,  says  she,  c  Sam,  you're  up  round  the  post-office 
a  good  deal,'  says  she.  '  I  wish,  if  you  see  any  let 
ters  for  me,  you'd  jest  bring  'em  along.'  I  see  right 
into  it,  and  I  told  her  to  be  sure  I  would  ;  and  so  I 
used  to  have  the  carryin'  of  great  thick  letters  every 
week.  Wai,  I  was  waitin'  on  Hepsy'  along  about 
them  times,  and  so  Miry  and  I  kind  o'  sympathized. 
Hepsy  was  a  pretty  gal,  and  I  thought  it  was  all 
best  as  'twas ;  any  way,  I  knew  I  couldn't  get  Miry, 
and  I  could  get  Hepsy,  and  that  made  all  the  dif 
ference  in  the  world. 

"  Wai,  that  next  winter  old  Black  Hoss  was  took 
down  with  rheumatism,  and  I  tell  you  if  Miry  didn't 
have  a  time  on't!  He  wa'n't  noways  sweet-ten> 
pered  when  he  was  well ;  but  come  to  be  crooked 
up  with  the  rheumatis'  and  kep'  awake  nights,  it 


"MIS'   ELDEKKIN'S  PITCHER."  133 

seemed  as  if  he  was  determined  there  shouldn't  no 
body  have  no  peace  so  long  as  he  couldn't. 

"  He'd  get  Miry  up  and  down  with  him  night 
after  night  a  makin'  her  heat  flannels  and  vinegar, 
and  then  he'd  jaw  and  scold  so  that  she  was  eenymost 
beat  out.  He  wouldn't  have  nobody  set  up  with 
him,  though  there  was  offers  made.  No:  he  said 
Miry  was  his  daughter,  and  'twas  her  bisness  to 
take  care  on  him. 

"  Miry  was  clear  worked  down :  folks  kind  o' 
pitied  her.  She  was  a  strong  gal,  but  there's  things 
that  wears  out  the  strongest.  The  worst  on't  was,  it 
hung  on  so.  Old  Black  Hoss  had  a  most  amazin' 
sight  o'  constitution.  He'd  go  all  down  to  death's 
door,  and  seem  hardly  to  have  the  breath  o'  life  in 
him,  and  then  up  he'd  come  agin !  These  'ere  old 
folks  that  nobody  wants  to  have  live  allers  hev  such 
a  sight  o'  wear  in  'em,  they  jest  last  and  last ;  and 
it  really  did  seem  as  if  he'd  wear  Miry  out  and  get 
her  into  the  grave  fust,  for  she  got  a  cough  with 
bein'  up  so  much  in  the  cold,  and  grew  thin  as  a 
shadder.  'Member  one  time  I  went  up  there  to 
offer  to  watch  jest  in  the  spring  o'  the  year,  when 
12 


134  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

the  laylocks  was  jest  a  buddin'  out,  and  Miry  she 
come  and  talked  with  me  over  the  fence ;  and  the 
poor  gal  she  fairly  broke  down,  and  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  would  break,  a  tellin'  me  her  trouble. 

"Wai,  it  reelly  affected  me  more  to  have  Miry 
give  up  so  than  most  gals,  'cause  she'd  allers  held 
her  head  up,  and  hed  sich  a  sight  o'  grit  and  resolu 
tion  ;  but  she  told  me  all  about  it. 

"  It  seems  old  Black  Hoss  he  wa'n't  content  with 
worryin'  on  her,  and  gettin'  on  her  up  nights,  but  he 
kep'  a  hectorin'  her  about  Bill  Elderkin,  and  wantin' 
on  her  to  promise  that  she  wouldn't  hev  Bill  when 
he  was  dead  and  gone ;  and  Miry  she  wouldn't  prom 
ise,  and  then  the  old  man  said  she  shouldn't  have  a 
cent  from  him  if  she  didn't,  and  so  they  had  it  back 
and  forth.  Everybody  in  town  was  sayin'  what  a 
shame  'twas  that  he  should  sarve  her  so  ;  for  though 
he  hed  other  children,  they  was  married  and  gone, 
and  there  wa'n't  none  of  them  to  do  for  him  but 
jest  Miry. 

"  Wai,  he  hung  on  till  jest  as  the  pinys  in  the 
front  yard  was  beginnin'  to  blow  out,  and  then  he 
began  to  feel  he  was  a  goin',  and  he  sent  for  Parson 


"MIS'   ELDERKIN'S  PITCHER."  135 

Loth/^p  to  know  what  was  to  be  done  about  his 
sou). 

"  '  Wai,'  says  Parson  Lothrop,  '  you  must  settle 
up  aJ!  your  worldly  affairs ;  you  must  be  in  peace 
and  love  with  all  mankind ;  and,  if  you've  wronged 
anybody,  you  must  make  it  good  to  'em.' 

u  Old  Black  Hoss  he  bounced  right  over  in  his 
bed  with  his  back  to  the  minister. 

"  4  The  devil ! '  says  he :  '  'twill  take  all  I've 
got.'  And  he  never  spoke  another  word,  though 
Parson  Lothrop  he  prayed  with  him,  and  did  what 
he  could  for  him. 

"  Wai,  that  night  I  sot  up  with  him ;  and  he 
went  off  'tween  two  and  three  in  the  mornin',  and 
I  laid  him  out  regular.  Of  all  the  racks  o'  bone  I 
ever  see,  I  never  see  a  human  critter  so  poor  as 
he  was.  'Twa'n't  nothin'  but  his  awful  will  kep' 
his  soul  in  his  body  so  long,  as  it  was. 

"  We  had  the  funeral  in  the  meetin'-house  a  Sun 
day  ;  and  Parson  Lothrop  he  preached  a  sarmon  on 
contentment  on  the  text,  ;  We  brought  nothin'  into 
the  world,  and  it's  sartin  we  can  carry  nothin'  out ; 
and  having  food  and  raiment,  let  us  be  therewith 


136  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

content.'  Parson  Lothrop  he  got  round  the  subject 
about  as  handsome  as  he  could :  he  didn't  say  what 
a  skinflint  old  Black  Hoss  was,  but  he  talked  in  a  gin 
eral  way  about  the  vanity  o'  worryin'  an'  scrapin 
to  heap  up  riches.  Ye  see,  Parson  Lothrop  he  could 
say  it  all  putty  easy,  too,  'cause  since  he  married  a 
rich  wife  he  never  hed  no  occasion  to  worry  about 
temporal  matters.  Folks  allers  preaches  better  on 
the  ^vanity  o'  riches  when  they's  in  tol'able  easy 
circumstances.  Ye  see,  when  folks  is  pestered  and 
worried  to  pay  their  bills,  and  don't  know  where 
the  next  dollar's  to  come  from,  it's  a  great  tempta 
tion  to  be  kind  o'  valooin'  riches,  and  mebbe  en- 
vyin'  those  that's  got  'em  ;  whereas  when  one's  ac 
counts  all  pays  themselves,  and  the  money  comes 
jest  when  its  wanted  regular,  a  body  feels  sort  o' 
composed  like,  and  able  to  take  the  right  view  o' 
things,  like  Parson  Lothrop. 

"  Wai,  arter  sermon  the  relations  all  went  over  to 
the  old  house  to  hear  the  will  read  ;  and,  as  I  was  kind 
o'  friend  with  the  family,  I  jest  slipped  in  along  with 
the  rest. 

"  Squire  Jones  he  had  the  will ;  and  so  when  they  all 


"MIS'   ELDERKIN'S  PITCHER."  137 

got  sot  round  all  solemn,  he  broke  the  seals  and  un 
folded  it,  cracklin'  it  a  good  while  afore  he  begun 
and  it  was  so  still  you  might  a  heard  a  pin  drop  when 
lie  begun  to  read.  Fust,  there  was  the  farm  and 
stock,  he  left  to  his  son  John  Brown  over  in  Sher- 
burne.  Then  there  was  the  household  stuff  and  all 
them  things,  spoons  and  dishes,  and  beds  and  kiver- 
lids,  and  so  on,  to  his  da'ter  Polly  Blanchard.  And 
then,  last  of  all,  he  says,  he  left  to  his  da'ter  Miry 
the  pitcher  that  was  on  the  top  o'  the  shelf  in  his  bed 
room  closet. 

"  That  'are  was  an  old  cracked  pitcher  that  Miry  al- 
lers  hed  hated  the  sight  of,  and  spring  and  fall  she  used 
to  beg  her  father  to  let  her  throw  it  away ;  but  no, 
he  wouldn't  let  her  touch  it,  and  so  it  stood  gatherin' 
dust. 

"  Some  on  'em  run  and  handed  it  down ;  and  it 
seemed  jest  full  o'  scourin'-sand  and  nothin'  else,  and 
they  handed  it  to  Miry. 

"  Wai,  Miry  she  was  wrathy  then.  She  didn't  so 
much  mind  bein'  left  out  in  the  will,  'cause  she  ex 
pected  that ;  but  to  have  that  'are  old  pitcher  poked  at 

her  so  sort  o'  scornful  was  more'n  she  could  bear. 
12* 


138  OLDTOWN    FIRESIDE    STORIES. 

"  She  took  it  and  gin  it  a  throw  across  the  room 
with  all  her  might ;  and  it  hit  agin  the  wall  and  broke 
into  a  thousand  bits,  when  out  rolled  hundreds  of 
gold  pieces  ;  great  gold  eagles  and  guineas  flew  round 
the  kitchen  jest  as  thick  as  dandelions  in  a  meadow. 
1  tell  you,  she  scrabbled  them  up  pretty  quick,  and 
we  all  helped  her. 

"  Come  to  count  'em  over,  Miry  had  the  best  foi- 
tin  of  the  whole,  as  'twas  right  and  proper  she 
should.  Miry  she  was  a  sensible  gal,  and  she  in 
vested  her  money  well ;  and  so,  when  Bill  Elderkin 
got  through  his  law-studies,  he  found  a  wife  that 
could  make  a  nice  beginnin'  with  him.  And  that's 
the  way,  you  see,  they  came  to  be  doin'  as  well  as 
they  be. 

"  So,  boys,  you  jest  mind  and  remember  and  allers 
see  what  there  is  in  a  providence  afore  you  quairel 
with  it,  'cause  there's  a  good  many  things  in  this 
world  turns  out  like  Mis'  Elderkin's  pitcher." 


5 

"  Great  gold  eagles  and  guineas  flew  roundthe  kitchen" —  Page  138. 


THE    GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N   BROWN 
HOUSE. 


OW,  Sam,  tell  us  certain  true,  is  there 
any  such  things  as  ghosts  ?  " 

"  Be  there  ghosts  ?  "  said  Sam,  imme 
diately  translating  into  his  vernacular 
grammar :  "  wal,  now,  that  are's  jest 
the  question,  ye  see." 
Well,  grandma  thinks  there  are,  and 
Aunt  Lois  thinks  it's  all  nonsense.  Why,  Aunt  Lois 
don't  even  believe  the  stories  in  Cotton  Mather's 
4  Magnalia.'  " 

"  Wanter  know  ?  "  said  Sam,  with  a  tone  of  slow 
languid  meditation. 

We  were  sitting  on  a  bank  of  the  Charles  River, 
fishing.      The  soft  melancholy  red  of   evening  was 

139 


140  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

fading  off  in  streaks  on  the  glassy  water,  and  the 
houses  of  Oldtown  were  beginning  to  loom  through 
the  gloom,  solemn  and  ghostly.  There  are  times 
and  tones  and  moods  of  nature  that  make  all  the 
vulgar,  daily  real  seem  shadow}^  vague,  and  super 
natural,  as  if  the  outlines  of  this  hard  material  pres 
ent  were  fading  into  the  invisible  and  unknown.  So 
Oldtown,  with  its  elm-trees,  its  great  square  white 
houses,  its  meeting-house  and  tavern  and  black 
smith's  shop  and  mill,  which  at  high  noon  seem  as 
real  and  as  commonplace  as  possible,  at  this  hour  of 
the  evening  were  dreamy  and  solemn.  They  rose  up 
blurred,  indistinct,  dark;  here  and  there  winking 
candles  sent  long  lines  of  light  through  the  shadows, 
and  little  drops  of  unforeseen  rain  rippled  the  sheeny 
darkness  of  the  water. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  boys,  in  them  things  it's  jest  as 
well  to  mind  your  granny.  There's  a  consid'able 
sight  o'  gumption  in  grandmas.  You  look  at  the 
folks  that's  allus  tellin'  you  what  they  don't  believe, 
—  they  don't  believe  this,  and  they  don't  believe 
that,  —  and  what  sort  o'  folks  i«  they  ?  Wiry,  like 
yer  Aunt  Lois,  sort  o'  stringy  and  dry.  There  ain't 
no  'sorption  got  out  o'  not  believin'  nothin'. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  CAP'N  BKOWN  HOUSE.     141 

"  Lord  a  massy  !  we  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  them 
things.  We  hain't  ben  there,  and  can't  say  that 
there  ain't  no  ghosts  and  sich ;  can  we,  now  ?  " 

We  agreed  to  that  fact,  and  sat  a  little  closer  to 
Sam  in  the  gathering  gloom. 

"  Tel1  ^s  about  the  Cap'n  Brown  house,  Sam." 

"  Ye  didn't  never  go  over  the  Cap'n  Brown 
house?" 

No,  we  had  not  that  advantage. 

"Wai,  yer  see,  Cap'n  Brown  he  made  all  his 
money  to  sea,  in  furrin  parts,  and  then  come  here  to 
Oldtown  to  settle  down. 

"  Now,  there  ain't  no  knowin'  'bout  these  'ere  old 
ship-masters,  where  they's  ben,  or  what  they's  ben  a 
doin',  or  how  they  got  their  money.  Ask  me  no 
questions,  and  I'll  tell  ye  no  lies,  is  'bout  the  best 
philosophy  for  them.  Wai,  it  didn't  do  no  good  to 
ask  Cap'n  Brown  questions  too  close,  'cause  you 
didn't  git  no  satisfaction.  Nobody  rightly  knew 
'bout  who  his  folks  was,  or  where  they  come  from ; 
and,  ef  a  body  asked  him,  he  used  to  say  that  the 
very  fust  he  know'd  'bout  himself  he  was  a  young 
man  walkin'  the  streets  in  London. 


142  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  But,  yer  see,  boys,  he  bed  money,  arid  that  is 
about  all  folks  wanter  know  when  a  man  comes  tc 
settle  down.  And  he  bought  that  'are  place,  and 
built  that  'are  house.  He  built  it  all  sea-cap'n 
fashion,  so's  to  feel  as  much  at  home  as  he  could. 
The  parlor  was  like  a  ship's  cabin.  The  table  and 
chairs  was  fastened  down  to  the  floor,  and  the  closets 
was  made  with  holes  to  set  the  casters  and  the 
decanters  and  bottles  in,  jest's  they  be  at  sea ; 
and  there  was  stanchions  to  hold  on  by;  and  they 
say  that  blowy  nights  the  cap'n  used  to  fire  up 
pretty  well  with  his  grog,  till  he  hed  about  all  he 
could  carry,  and  then  he'd  set  and  hold  on,  and  hear 
the  wind  blow,  and  kind  o'  feel  out  to  sea  right 
there  to  hum.  There  wasn't  no  Mis'  Cap'n  Brown, 
and  there  didn't  seem  likely  to  be  none.  And 
whether  there  ever  hed  been  one,  nobody  know'd. 
He  hed  an  old  black  Guinea  nigger-woman,  named 
Quassia,  that  did  his  work.  She  was  shaped  pretty 
much  like  one  o'  these  'ere  great  crookneck-squashes. 
She  wa'n't  no  gret  beauty,  I  can  tell  you ;  and  she 
used  to  wear  a  gret  red  turban  and  a  yaller  short 
gown  and  red  petticoat,  and  a  gret  string  o'  gold 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N  BROWN  HOUSE.     143 

beads  round  her  neck,  and  gret  big  gold  hoops  in 
her  ears,  made  right  in  the  middle  o'  Africa  among 
the  heathen  there.  For  all  she  was  black,  she 
thought  a  heap  o'  herself,  and  was  consid'able  sort 
o'  predominative  over  the  cap'n.  Lordy  massy ! 
boys,  it's  allus  so.  Get  a  man  and  a  woman  togeth 
er,  —  any  sort  o'  woman  you're  a  mind  to,  don't  care 
who  'tis,  —  and  one  way  or  another  she  gets  the  rule 
over  him,  and  he  jest  has  to  train  to  her  fife.  Some 
does  it  one  way,  and  some  does  it  another  ;  some  does 
it  by  jawin',  and  some  does  it  by  'kissin',  and  some 
does  it  by  faculty  and  contrivance  ;  but  one  way  or 
another  they  allers  does  it.  Old  Cap'n  Brown  was  a 
good  stout,  stocky  kind  o'  John  Bull  sort  o'  fellow, 
and  a  good  judge  o'  sperits,  and  allers  kep'  the  best 
in  them  are  cupboards  o'  his'n  ;  but,  fust  and  last, 
things  in  his  house  went  pretty  much  as  old  Quassia 
said. 

"  Folks  got  to  kind  o'  respectm'  Quassia.  She 
come  to  meetin'  Sunday  regular,  and  sot  all  fixed  up 
in  red  and  yaller  and  green,  with  glass  beads  and 
what  not,  lookin'  for  all  the  world  like  one  o'  them 
ugly  Indian  idols  ;  but  she  was  well-behaved  as  any 


144  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

Christian.  She  was  a  master  hand  at  cookin'.  Her 
bread  and  biscuits  couldn't  be  beat,  and  no  couldn't 
her  pies,  and  there  wa'n't  no  such  pound-cake  as  she 
made  nowhere.  Wai,  this  'ere  story  I'm  a  goin'  to 
tell  you  was  told  me  by  Cinthy  Pendleton.  There 
ain't  a  more  respectable  gal,  old  or  young,  than 
Cinthy  nowheres.  She  lives  over  to  Sherburne  now, 
and  I  hear  tell  she's  sot  up  a  manty-makin'  business ; 
but  then  she  used  to  do  tailorin'  in  Oldtown.  She 
was  a  member  o'  the  church,  and  a  good  Christian  as 
ever  was.  Wai,  }^e  see,  Quassia  she  got  Cinthy  to 
come  up  and  spend  a  week  to  the  Cap'n  Brown 
house,  a  doin'  tailorin'  and  a  fixin'  over  his  close  : 
'twas  along  toward  the  fust  o'  March.  Cinthy  she 
sot  by  the  fire  in  the  front-  parlor  with  her  goose  and 
her  press-board  and  her  work:  for  there  wa'n't  no 
company  callin',  and  the  snow  was  drifted  four  feet 
deep  right  across  the  front  door ;  so  there  wa'n't 
much  danger  o'  any  body  comin'  in.  And  the  cap'n 
he  was  a  perlite  man  to  wimmen ;  and  Cinthy  she 
liked  it  jest  as  well  not  to  have  company,  'cause  the 
cap'n  he'd  make  himself  entertainin'  tellin'  on  her 
sea-stories,  and  all  about  his  adventures  among  the 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N   BROWN   HOUSE.     145 

Ammonites,  and  Perresites,  and   Jebusites,  and   all    ^ 
sorts  o'  heathen  people  he'd  been  among. 

"  Wai,  that  'are  week  there  come  on  the  master 
snow-storm.  Of  all  the  snow-storms  that  hed  ben, 
that  'are  was  the  beater ;  and  I  tell  you  the  wind  blew 
as  if  'twas  the  last  chance  it  was  ever  goin'  to  hev. 
Wai,  it's  kind  o'  scary  like  to  be  shet  up  in  a  lone 
house  with  all  natur'  a  kind  o'  breakin'  out,  and  goin' 
on  so,  and  the  snow  a  comin'  down  so  thick  ye  can't 
see  'cross  the  street,  and  the  wind  a  pipin'  and  a 
squeelin'  and  a  rumblin'  and  a  tumblin'  fust  down  this 
chimney  and  then  down  that.  I  tell  you,  it  sort  o' 
sets  a  feller  thinkin'  o'  the  three  great,  things,  — 
death,  judgment,  and  etarnaty ;  and  I  don't  care  who  ' 
the  folks  is,  nor  how  good  they  be,  there's  times 
when  they  must  be  feelin'  putty  consid'able  solemn. 

"  Wai,  Cinthy  she  said  she  kind  o'  felt  so  along, 
and  she  hed  a  sort  o'  queer  feelin'  come  over  her  as 
if  there  was  somebody  or  some  thin'  round  the  house 
more'n  appeared.  She  said  she  sort  o'  felt  it  in  the 
air ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  silly,  and  she  tried  to  get 
over  it.  But  two  or  three  times,  she  said,  when  it 
got  to  be  dusk,  she  felt  somebody  go  by  her  up  the 

18 


146  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

stairs.  The  front  entry  wa'n't  very  light  in  the  day 
time,  and  in  the  storm,  come  five  o'clock,  it  was  so 
dark  that  all  you  could  see  was  jest  a  gleam  o'  some- 
thin',  and  two  or  three  times  when  she  started  to  go 
up  stairs  she  see  a  soft  white  suthin'  that  seemed 
goin'  up  before  her,  and  she  stopped  with  her  heart  a 
beatin'  like  a  trip-hammer,  and  she  sort  o'  saw  it  go 
up  and  along  the  entry  to  the  cap'n's  door,  and  then 
it  seemed  to  go  right  through,  'cause  the  door  didn't 
open. 

"  Wai,  Cinthy  says  she  to  old  Quassia,  says  she, 
4  Is  there  anybody  lives  in  this  house  but  us  ?  ' 

"  '  Anybody  lives  here  ? '  says  Quassia :  '  what  you 
mean  ?  '  says  she. 

"  Says  Cinthy,  4 1  thought  somebody  went  past  me 
on  the  stairs  last  night  and  to-night.' 

"  Lordy  massy  !  how  old  Quassia  did  screech  and 
laugh.  '  Good  Lord ! '  says  she,  '  how  foolish  white 
folks  is !  Somebody  went  past  you  ?  Was't  the 
capt'in  ? ' 

" '  No,  it  wa'n't  the  cap'n,'  says  she :  '  it  was 
ghmethin'  soft  and  white,  and  moved  very  still ;  it 
was  like  somethin'  in  the  air,'  says  she. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  CAP'N  BROWN  HOUSE.     147 

Then  Quassia  she  haw-hawed  louder.  Says  she, 
1  It's  hy-sterikes,  Miss  Cinthy ;  that's  all  it  is.' 

"  Wai,  Cinthy  she  was  kind  o'  'shamed,  but  for  all 
that  she  couldn't  help  herself.  Sometimes  evenin's 
she'd  be  a  settin'  with  the  cap'n,  and  she'd  think  she'd 
hear  somebody  a  movin'  in  his  room  overhead ;  and 
she  knowed  it  wa'n't  Quassia,  'cause  Quassia  was 
ironin'  in  the  kitchen.  She  took  pains  once  or  twice 
to  find  out  that  'are. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  the  cap'n's  room  was  the  gret  front 
upper  chamber  over  the  parlor,  and  then  right  oppi- 
site  to  it  was  the  gret  spare  chamber  where  Cinthy 
slept.  It  was  jest  as  grand  as  could  be,  with  a  gret 
four-post  mahogany  bedstead  and  damask  curtains 
brought  over  from  England ;  but  it  was  cold  enough 
to  freeze  a  white  bear  solid,  —  the  way  spare  cham 
bers  allers  is.  Then  there  was  the  entry  between, 
run  straight  through  the  house :  one  side  was  old 
Quassia's  room,  and  the  other  was  a  sort  o'  store 
room,  where  the  old  cap'n  kep'  all  sorts  o'  traps. 

"  Wai,  Cinthy  she  kep'  a  hevin'  things  happen  and 
a  seein'  things,  till  she  didn't  railly  know  what  was 
in  it.  Once  when  she  come  into  the  parlor  jest  at 


L48  OLDTOWN  FIKESIDE   STOKIES. 

sundown,  she  was  sure  she  see  a  white  figure  a  van- 
ishin'  out  o'  the  door  that  went  towards  the  side 
entry.  She  said  it  was  so  dusk,  that  all  she  could  see 
was  jest  this  white  figure,  and  it  jest  went  out  still  as 
a  cat  as  she  come  in. 

"  Wai,  Cinthy  didn't  like  to  speak  to  the  cap'?i 
about  it.  She  was  a  close  woman,  putty  prudent, 
Cinthy  was. 

"  But  one  night,  'bout  the  middle  o'  the  week,  this 
'ere  thing  kind  o'  come  to  a  crisis. 

"  Cinthy  said  she'd  ben  up  putty  late  a  sewin'  and 
a  finishin'  off  down  in  the  parlor ;  and  the  cap'n  he 
sot  up  with  her,  and  was  consid'able  cheerful  and 
entertainin',  tellin'  her  all  about  things  over  in  the 
Bermudys,  and  off  to  Chiny  and  Japan,  and  round 
the  world  ginerally.  The  storm  that  hed  been  a 
bio  win'  all  the  week  was  about  as  furious  as  ever; 
and  the  cap'n  he  stirred  up  a  mess  o'  flip,  and  hed  it 
for  her  hot  to  go  to  bed  on.  He  was  a  good-natured 
critter,  and  allers  had  feelin's  for  lone  women ;  and  I 
s'pose  he  knew  'twas  sort  o'  desolate  for  Cinthy. 

"  Wai,  takin'  the  flip  so  right  the  last  thing  afore 
goin'  to  bed,  she  went  right  off  to  sleep  as  sound  as 


"  She  stood  there,  lookirf  right  at  Cinthy."  —  Page  149. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N   BROWN  HOUSE.     149 

a  nut,  and  slep*  on  till  somewhere  about  mornin', 
when  she  said  somethin'  waked  her  broad  awake  in  a 
minute.  Her  eyes  flew  wide  open  like  a  spring,  and 
the  storm  hed  gone  down  and  the  moon  come  out  ;• 
and  there,  standin'  right  in  the  moonlight  by  her  bed, 
was  a  woman  jest  as  white  as  a  sheet,  with  black  hair 
hangin'  down  to  her  waist,  and  the  brightest,  mourn 
fullest  black  eyes  you  ever  see.  She  stood  there 
lookin'  right  at  Cinthy ;  and  Cinthy  thinks  that  was 
what  waked  her  up ;  'cause,  you  know,  ef  anybody 
stands  and  looks  steady  at  folks  asleep  it's  apt  to 
wake  'em. 

"Any  way,  Cinthy  said  she  felt  jest  as  ef  she  was 
turnin'  to  stone.  She  couldn't  move  nor  speak. 
She  lay  a  minute,  and  then  she  shut  her  eyes,  and 
begun  to  say  her  prayers ;  and  a  minute  after  she 
opened  'em,  and  it  was  gone. 

"  Cinthy  was  a  sensible  gal,  and  one  that  allers 
hed  her  thoughts  about  her ;  and  she  jest  got  up  and 
put  a  shawl  round  her  shoulders,  and  went  first  and 
looked  at  the  doors,  and  they  was  both  on  'em  locked 
jest  as  she  left  'em  when  she  went  to  bed.  Then 
she  looked  under  the  bed  and  in  the  closet,  and 

18* 


150  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE    STORIES. 

felt  all  round  the  room  :  where  she  couldn't  see  she 
felt  her  way,  and  there  wa'n't  nothin'  there. 

"  Wai,  next  mornin'  Cinthy  got  up  and  went 
home,  and  she  kep'  it  to  herself  a  good  while. 
Finally,  one  day  when  she  was  workin'  to  our  house 
she  told  Hepsy  about  it,  and  Hepsy  she  told  me." 

"  Well,  Sam,"  we  said,  after  a  pause,  in  which  we 
heard  only  the  rustle  of  leaves  and  the  ticking  of 
branches  against  each  other,  "  what  do  you  suppose 
it  was  ?  " 

"  Wai,  there  'tis :  you  know  jest  as  much  about 
it  as  I  do.  Hepsy  told  Cinthy  it  might  'a'  ben  a 
dream ;  so  it  might,  but  Cinthy  she  was  sure  it 
wa'n't  a  dream,  'cause  she  remembers  plain  hearin' 
the  old  clock  on  the  stairs  strike  four  while  she  had 
her  eyes  open  lookin'  at  the  woman  ;  and  then  she 
only  shet  'em  a  minute,  jest  to  say  '  Now  I  lay  me,' 
and  opened  'em  and  she  was  gone. 

"  Wai,  Cinthy  told  Hepsy,  and  Hepsy  she  kep'  it 
putty  close.  She  didn't  tell  it  to  nobody  except 
Aunt  Sally  Dickerson  and  the  Widder  Bije  Smith 
and  your  Grandma  Badger  and  the  minister's  wife ; 
and  they  every  one  o'  'em  'greed  it  ought  to  be  kep1 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N  BROWN  HOUSE.      151 

elose,  'cause  it  would  make  talk.     Wai,  come  spring 
somehow  or  other  it  seemed  to  'a'  got  all  over  Old 
town.     I  heard  on  't  to  the  store  and  up  to  the  tav 
ern  ;   and  Jake  Marshall  he   says   to   me   one   day, 
4  What's  this  'ere  about  the  cap'n's  house  ?  '     Anrl 
the  Widder  Loker  she  says  to  me,  '  There's  ben  a 
ghost  seen  in  the  cap'n's  house  ; '  and  I  heard  on  't 
clear  over  to  Needham  and  Sherburne. 

"  Some  o'  the  women  they  drew  themselves  up 
putty  stiff  and  proper.  Your  Aunt  Lois  was  one  on 
'em. 

"  4  Ghost,'  says  she  ;  «  don't  tell  me  !  Perhaps  it 
would  be  best  ef  'twas  a  ghost,'  says  she.  She 
didn't  think  there  ought  to  be  no  sich  doin's  in  no 
body's  house  ;  and  your  grandma  she  shet  her  up, 
and  told  her  she  didn't  oughter  talk  so." 

"  Talk  how  ?  "  said  I,  ^interrupting  Sam  with  won 
der.  "  What  did  Aunt  Lois  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Sam  mysteriously,  "  there 
allers*  is  folks  in  every  town  that's  jest  like  the 
Sadducees  in  old  times  :  they  won't  believe  in  angel 
nor  sperit,  no  way  you  can  fix  it ;  and  ef  things  is 
seen  and  done  in  a  house,  why,  they  say,  it's  'cause 


152  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

there's  somebody  there ;  there's  some  sort  o'  deviltry 
or  trick  about  it. 

"  So  the  story  got  round  that  there  was  a  woman 
kep'  private  in  Cap'n  Brown's  house,  and  that  he 
brought  her  from  furrin  parts ;  and  it  growed  and 
growed,  till  there  was  all  sorts  o'  ways  o'  tellin  on  't. 

"  Some  said  they'd  seen  her  a  settin'  at  an  open 
winder.  Some  said  that  moonlight  nights  they'd 
seen  her  a  walkin'  out  in  the  back  garden  kind  o'  in 
and  out  'mong  the  bean-poles  and  squash-vines. 

"  You  see,  it  come  on  spring  and  summer  ;  and  the 
winders  o'  the  Cap'n  Brown  house  stood  open,  and 
folks  was  all  a  watchin'  on  'em  day  and  night.  Aunt 
Sally  Dickerson  told  the  minister's  wife  that  she'd 
seen  in  plain  daylight  a  woman  a  settin'  at  the 
chamber  winder  atween  four  and  five  o'clock  in  the 
mornin',  —  jist  a  settin'  a  lookin'  out  and  a  doin' 
nothin',  like  anybody  else.  She  was  very  white  and 
pale,  and  had  black  eyes. 

"  Some  said  that  it  was  a  nun  the  cap'n  had 
brought  away  from  a  Roman  Catholic  convent  in 
Spain,  and  some  said  he'd  got  her  out  o'  the  Inquisi 
tion. 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N  BROWN  HOUSE.     153 

"  Aunt  Sally  said  she  thought  the  minister  ought 
to  call  and  inquire  why  she  didn't  come  to  meetin',  j 
and  who  she  was,  and  all  about  her :  'cause,  you  see, 
she  said  it  might  be  all  right  enough  ef  folks  only 
know'd  jest  how  things  was;  but  ef  they  didn't, 
why,  folks  will  talk." 

"  Well,  did  the  minister  do  it  ?  " 

"  What,  Parson  Lothrop  ?  Wai,  no,  he  didn't. 
He  made  a  call  on  the  cap'n  in  a  regular  way,  and 
asked  arter  his  health  and  all  his  family.  But  the 
cap'n  he  seemed  jest  as  jolly  and  chipper  as  a  spring 
robin,  and  he  gin  the  minister  some  o'  his  old 
Jamaiky ;  and  the  minister  he  come  away  and  said 
he  didn't  see  nothin' ;  and  no  he  didn't.  Folks 
never  does  see  nothin'  when  they  aint'  lookin'  where 
'tis.  Fact  is,  Parson  Lothrop  wa'n't  fond  o'  inter- 
ferin' ;  he  was  a  master  hand  to  slick  things  over. 
Your  grandma  she  used  to  mourn  about  it,  'cause 
she  said  he  never  gin  no  p'int  to  the  doctrines  ;  but 
'twas  all  of  a  piece,  he  kind  o'  took  every  thing  the 
smooth  way. 

"  But  your  grandma  she  believed  in  the  ghost, 
and  so  did  Lady  Lothrop.  I  was  up  to  her  house 


154  OLDTOWN    FIRESIDE    STORIES 

t'other  day  fixin'  a  door-knob,  and  says  she,  '  Sam 
your  wife  told  me  a  strange  story  about  the  Cap'u 
Brown  house.' 

" 4  Yes,  ma'am,  she  did,'  says  I. 

"  4  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  '  says  she. 

"  '  Wai,  sometimes  I  think,  and  then  agin  I  don't 
know,'  says  I.  '  There's  Gin  thy  she's  a  member  o' 
the  church  and  a  good  pious  gal,'  says  I. 

"  '  Yes,  Sam,'  says  Lady  Lothrop,  says  she  ;  '  and 
Sam,'  says  she,  '  it  is  jest  like  something  that  hap 
pened  once  to  my  grandmother  when  she  was  livin' 
in  the  old  Province  House  in  Bostin.'  Says  she, 
4  These  'ere  things  is  the  mysteries  of  Providence, 
and  it's  jest  as  well  not  to  have  'em  too  much  talked 
about.' 

"  '  Jest  so,'  says  I,  —  '  jest  so.  That  'are's  what 
every  woman  I've  talked  with  says ;  and  I  guess,  fust 
and  last,  I've  talked  with  twenty,  —  good,  safe 
church-members,  —  and  they's  every  one  o'  opinior. 
that  this  'ere  oughtn't  to  be  talked  about.  Why, 
over  to  the  deakin's  t'other  night  we  went  it  all 
over  as  much  as  two  or  three  hours,  and  we  con 
cluded  that  the  best  way  was  to  keep  quite  still 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N   BROWN   HOUSE.      1" 

about  it ;  and  that's  jest  what  they  say  over  to  Need- 
ham  and  Sherburne.  I've  been  all  round  a  hushin' 
this  'ere  up,  and  I  hain't  found  but  a  few  people  that 
hedirt  the  particulars  one  way  or  another.'  This  'ere 
was  what  I  says  to  Lady  Lothrop.  The  fact  was,  I 
never  did  see  no  report  spread  so,  nor  make  sich  sort 
o'  sarchin's  o'  heart,  as  this  'ere.  It  railly  did  beat 
all ;  'cause,  ef  'twas  a  ghost,  why  there  was  the  p'int 
proved,  ye  see.  Cinthy's  a  church-member,  and  she 
see  it,  and  got  right  up  and  sarched  the  room :  but 
then  agin,  ef  'twas  a  woman,  why  that  'are  was  kind 
o'  awful ;  it  give  cause,  ye  see,  for  thinkin'  all  sorts 
o'  things.  There  was  Cap'n  Brown,  to  be  sure,  he 
wa'n't  a  church-member ;  but  yet  he  was  as  honest 
and  regular  a  man  as  any  goin',  as  fur  as  any  on  us 
could  see.  To  be  sure,  nobody  know'd  where  he 
;ome  from,  but  that  wa'n't  no  reason  agin'  him  :  this 
'ere  might  a  ben  a  crazy  sister,  or  some  poor  critter 
that  he  took  out  o'  the  best  o'  motives;  and  the 
Scriptur'  says,  c  Charity  hopeth  all  things.'  But 
then,  ye  see,  folks  will  talk,  —  that  'are's  the  pester 
o'  all  these  things,  —  and  they  did  some  on  'em 
talk  consid'able  strong  about  the  cap'n  ;  but  some- 


156  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

how  or  other,  there  didn't  nobody  come  to  the  p'int 
o'  facin'  on  him  down,  and  sayin'  square  out,  '  Cap'n 
Brown,  have  you  got  a  woman  in  your  house,  or 
hain't  you  ?  or  is  it  a  ghost,  or  what  is  it  ?  '  Folks 
somehow  never  does  come  to  that.  Ye  see,  there  was 
the  cap'n  so  respectable,  a  settin'  up  every  Sunday 
there  in  his  pew,  with  his  ruffles  round  his  hands  and 
his  red  broadcloth  cloak  and  his  cocked  hat.  Why, 
folks'  hearts  sort  o'  failed  'em  when  it  come  to  sayin' 
any  thing  right  to  him.  They  thought  and  kind  o' 
whispered  round  that  the  minister  or  the  deakins 
oughter  do  it :  but  Lordy  massy  !  ministers,  I  s'pose, 
has  feelhrs  like  the  rest  on  us  ;  they  don't  want  to 
eat  all  the  hard  cheeses  that  nobody  else  won't  eat. 
Anyhow,  there  wasn't  nothin'  said  direct  to  the 
cap'n ;  and  jest  for  want  o'  that  all  the  folks  in  Old- 
town  kep'  a  bilin'  and  a  bilin'  like  a  kettle  o'  soap, 
till  it  seemed  all  the  time  as  if  they'd  bile  over. 

"  Some  o'  the  wimmen  tried  to  get  somethin'  out 
o'  Quassy.  Lordy  massy !  you  might  as  well  'a'  tried 
to  get  it  out  an  old  torn-turkey,  that'll  strut  and 
gobble  and  quitter,  and  drag  his  wings  on  the  ground, 
and  fly  at  you,  but  won't  say  nothin'.  Quassy  she 


THE  GHOST  IN  THE  CAP'N  BROWN  HOUSE.      157 

screeched  her  queer  sort  o'  laugh ;  and  she  told  'em 
that  they  was  a  makin'  fools  o'  themselves,  and  that 
the  cap'n's  matters  wa'n't  none  o'  their  bisness ; 
and  that  was  true  enough.  As  to  goin'  into  Quas 
sia's  room,  or  into  any  o'  the  store-rooms  or  closets 
she  kep'  the  keys  of,  you  might  as  well  hev  gone 
into  a  lion's  den.  She  kep'  all  her  places  locked  up 
tight;  and  there  was  no  gettin'  at  nothin'  in  the 
Cap'n  Brown  house,  else  I  believe  some  o'  the  wim- 
men  would  'a'  sent  a  sarch- warrant." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  what  came  of  it  ?  Didn't  any 
body  ever  find  out  ?  " 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  u  it  come  to  an  end  sort  o',  and 
lidn't  come  to  an  end.  It  was  jest  this  'ere  way. 
You  see,  along  in  October,  jest  in  the  cider-makin' 
time,  Abel  Flint  he  was  took  down  with  dysentery 
and  died.  You  'member  the  Flint  house :  it  stood 
on  a  little  rise  o'  ground  jest  lookin'  over  towards 
the  Brown  house.  Wai,  there  was  Aunt  Sally 
Dickerson  and  the  Widder  Bije  Smith,  they  set  up 
with  the  corpse.  He  was  laid  out  in  the  back  cham 
ber,  you  see,  over  the  milk-room  and  kitchen  ;  but 
there  was  cold  victuals  and  sich  in  the  front  chamber, 

14 


158  OLDTOWN   FIRES!  I>E    STORIES. 

where  the  watchers  sot.  Wai,  now,  Aunt  Sally  she 
told  me  that  between  three  and  four  o'clock  she 
heard  wheels  a  rumblin',  and  she  went  to  the  winder, 
and  it  was  clear  starlight;  and  she  see  a  coach  come 
up  to  the  Cap'n  Brown  house ;  and  she  see  the  cap'n 
come  out  bringin'  a  woman  all  wrapped  in  a  cloak, 
and  old  Quassy  came  arter  with  her  arms  full  o'  bun 
dles  ;  and  he  put  her  into  the  kerridge,  and  shet  her  in, 
and  it  driv  off ;  and  she  see  old  Quassy  stand  lookin' 
over  the  fence  arter  it.  She  tried  to  wake  up  the 
widder,  but  'twas  towards  raornin',  and  the  widder 
allers  was  a  hard  sleeper ;  so  there  wa'n't  no  witness 
but  her." 

"  Well,  then,  it  wasn't  a  ghost,"  said  I,  "  after  all, 
and  it  was  a  woman." 

"Wai,  there  'tis,  you  see.  Folks  don't  know  that 
'are  yit,  'cause  there  it's  jest  as  broad  as  'tis  long. 
Now,  look  at  it.  There's  Cinthy,  she's  a  good,  pious 
gal :  she  locks  her  chamber-doors,  both  on  'em,  and 
goes  to  bed,  and  wakes  up  in  the  night,  and  there's  a 
woman  there.  She  jest  shets  her  eyes,  and  the  wo 
man's  gone.  She  gits  up  and  looks,  and  both  doors  is 
locked  jest  as  she  left  'em.  That  'ere  woman  wa'n't 


THE   GHOST  IN  THE   CAP'N   BROWN  HOUSE.     159 

flesh  and  blood  now,  no  way,  —  not  such  flesh  and 
blood  as  we  knows  on ;  but  then  they  say  Cinthy 
might  hev  dreamed  it  ! 

"  Wai,  now,  look  at  it  t'other  way.  There's  Aunt 
Sally  Dickerson  ;  she's  a  good  woman  and  a  church- 
member  :  wal,  she  sees  a  woman  in  a  cloak  with  all 
her  bundles  brought  out  o'  Cap'n  Brown's  house,  and 
put  into  a  kerridge,  and  driv  off,  at  we  en  three  and 
four  o'clock  in  the  mornin'.  Wal,  that  'ere  shows 
there  must  'a'  ben  a  real  live  woman  kep'  there  pri 
vately,  and  so  what  Cinthy  saw  wasn't  a  ghost. 

"  Wal,  now,  Cinthy  says  Aunt  Sally  might  'a'  1 
dreamed  it,  —  that  she  got  her  head  so  full  o'  stories 
about  the  Cap'n  Brown  house,  and  watched  it  till  she 
got  asleep,  and  hed  this  'ere  dream ;  and,  as  there 
didn't  nobody  else  see  it,  it  might  'a'  ben,  you  know. 
Aunt  Sally's  clear  she  didn't  dream,  and  then  agin 
Cinthy's  clear  she  didn't  dream ;  but  which  on  'em 
was  awake,  or  which  on  'em  was  asleep,  is  what  ain't 
settled  in  Oldtown  yet." 


COLONEL  EPH'S   SHOE-BUCKLES. 


ES,  this  'ere's  Tekawampait's  grave," 
said  Sam  Lawson,  sitting  leisurely 
down  on  an  ancient  grass-grown 
mound,  ornamented  by  a  mossy  black 
slate-stone  slab,  with  a  rudely-carved 
cherub  head  and  wings  on  top. 

"  And  who  was  Tekawampait?  " 
44 1  wanter  know,  now,  if  your  granny  hain't  told 
you   who  Tekawampait    was?"  said    Sam,  pushing 
back  his  torn  straw  hat,  and  leaning  against  the  old 
slanting  gravestone. 

"  No,  she  never  told  us." 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  Tekawampait  he  was  the  fust  Chris 
tian  Indian  minister  o'  the  gospel  there  was  in  Old- 
town.  He  was  a  full-blooded  Indian,  but  he  was  as 

160 


COLONEL  EPH'S  SHOE-BUCKLES.       161 

good  a  Christian  as  there  was  goin'  ;  and  he  wag 
settled  here  over  the  church  in  Oldtown  afore  Par 
son  Peabody ;  and  Parson  Peabody  he  come  afore 
Parson  Lothrop  ;  and  a  very  good  minister  Teka- 
wampait  was  too.  Folks  hes  said  that  there  couldn't 
nothin'  be  made  o'  Indians ;  that  they  was  nothiif 
but  sort  o'  bears  and  tigers  a  walkin'  round  on  their 
hind  legs,  a  seekin'  whom  they  might  devour ;  but 
Parson  Eliot  he  didn't  think  so.  4  Christ  died  for 
them  as  wal  as  for  me,'  says  he  ;  '  and  jest  give  'em 
the  gospel,'  says  he,  '  and  the  rest'll  come  along  o' 
itself.'  And  so  he  come  here  to  Oldtown,  and  sot 
up  a  sort  o'  log-hut  right  on  the  spot  where  the  old 
Cap'n  Brown  house  is  now.  Them  two  great  elm- 
trees  that's  a  grown  now  each  side  o'  the  front  gate 
was  two  little  switches  then,  that  two  Indians  brought 
up  over  their  shoulders,  and  planted  there  for  friend 
ship  trees,  as  they  called  'em ;  and  now  look  what 
trees  they  be  !  He  used  to  stand  under  that  'are  big 
oak  there,  and  preach  to  the  Indians,  long  before 
there  was  any  meetin'-house  to  speak  in  here  in 
Oldtown. 

"  Wal,  now,  I  tell  you,  it  took  putty  good  courage 
u* 


162  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

in  Parson  Eliot  to  do  that  'are.  I  tell  you,  in  them 
days  it  took  putty  consid'able  faith  to  see  any  thing 
in  an  Indian  but  jest  a  wild  beast.  Folks  can't  tell 
by  seem'  on  'em  now  days  what  they  was  in  the  old 
times  when  all  the  settlements  was  new,  and  the  In 
dians  was  stark,  starin'  wild,  a  ravin'  and  tariii'  round 
in  the  woods,  and  a  fightin'  each  other  and  a  fightin' 
the  white  folks.  Lordy  massy !  the  stories  I've  heard 
women  tell  in  their  chimbley-corners  about  the 
things  that  used  to  happen  when  they  was  little  was 
enough  to  scare  the  very  life  out  o'  ye." 

"  Oh,  do,  do  tell  us  some  of  them  !  "  said  Henry 
and  I. 

"  Lordy  massy,  boys :  why,  ye  wouldn't  sleep  for  a 
week.  Why,  ye  don't  know.  Why,  the  Indians  in 
them  days  wa'n't  like  no  critter  ye  ever  did  see. 
They  was  jest  the  horridest,  paintedest,  screechin'est, 
cussed est  critters  you  ever  heard  on.  They  was  jest 
as  artful  as  sarpents,  and  crueller  than  any  tigers. 
Good  Dr.  Cotton  Mather  calls  'em  divils,  and  he  was 
a  meek,  good  man,  Dr.  Cotton  was  ;  but  they  cut  up 
so  in  his  days,  it's  no  wonder  he  thought  they  was 
divils,  and  not  folks.  Why,  they  kep'  the  whole 


COLONEL  EPH'S  SHOE-BUCKLES.  163 

country  in  a  broil  for  years  and  years.  Nobody 
knowed  when  they  was  safe ;  for  they  were  so  sly  and 
cunnin',  and  always  watchin'  behind  fences  and 
bushes,  and  ready  when  a  body  was  a  least  thinkin' 
on't  to  be  down  on  'em.  I've  heard  Abiel  Jones  tell 
how  his  father's  house  was  burnt  down  at  the 
time  the  Indians  burnt  Deerfield.  About  every  house 
in  the  settlement  was  burnt  to  the  ground;  and 
then  another  time  they  burnt  thirty-two  houses  in 
Springfield,  —  the  minister's  house  and  all,  with  all 
his  library  (and  books  was  sca'ce  in  them  days)  ; 
but  the  Indians  made  a  clean  sweep  on't.  They 
burnt  all  the  houses  in  Wendham  down  to  the 
ground ;  and  they  came  down  in  Lancaster,  and 
burnt  ever  so  many  houses,  and  carried  off  forty  or 
fifty  people  with  'em  into  the  woods. 

"  There  was  Mr.  Rolandson,  the  minister,  they 
burnt  his  house,  and  carried  off  Mis'  Rolandson  and 
all  the  children.  There  was  Jerushy  Pierce  used 
to  work  in  his  family  and  do  washin'  arid  chores, 
she's  told  me  about  it.  Jerushy  she  was  away  to 
her  uncle's  that  night,  so  she  wa'n't  took.  Ye  see, 
the  Lancaster  folks  had  been  afeard  the  Indians'd 


164  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

be  down  on  'em,  and  so  Parson  Rolandson  he'd 
gone  on  to  Boston  to  get  help  for  'em  ;  and  when 
he  come  back  the  mischief  was  all  done.  Jerushy 
said  in  all  her  life  she  never  see  nothin'  so  pitiful 
as  that  'are  poor  man's  face  when  she  met  him,  jest 
as  he  come  to  the  place  where  the  house  stood.  At 
fust  he  didn't  say  a  word,  she  said,  but  he  looked 
kind  o'  dazed.  Then  he  sort  o'  put  his  hand  to 
his  forehead,  and  says  he,  '  My  God,  my  God,  help 
me ! '  Then  he  tried  to  ask  her  about  it,  but  he 
couldn't  but  jest  speak.  c  Jerushy,'  says  he,  '  can't 
you  tell  me,  —  where  be  they  ? '  '  Wai,'  says  Je 
rushy,  4  they've  been  carried  off.'  And  with  that 
he  fell  right  down  and  moaned  and  groaned.  '  Oh ! ' 
says  he, .'  I'd  rather  heard  that  they  were  at  peace 
with  the  Lord.'  And  then  he'd  wring  his  hands : 
4  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do  ?  ' 

"  Wai,  'twa'n't  long  after  this  that  the  Indians  was 
down  on  Medford,  and  burnt  half  the  houses  in  town, 
and  killed  fifty  or  sixty  people  there.  Then  they 
came  down  on  Northampton,  but  got  driv'  back  ;  but 
then  they  burnt  up  five  houses,  and  killed  four  o* 
five  of  the  folks  afore  they  got  the  better  of  'e» 


COLONEL  EPH'S   SHOE-BCJCKLES.  165 

there.  Then  they  burnt  all  the  houses  in  Groton, 
meetin'-house  and  all ;  and  the  pisen  critters  they 
hollared  and  triumphed  over  the  people,  and  called  out 
to  'em,  '  What  will  you  do  for  a  house  to  pray  in 
now  ?  we've  burnt  your  meetin'-house.'  The  fightin' 
was  goin'  on  all  over  the  country  at  the  same  time. 
The  Indians  set  Marlborough  afire,  and  it  was  all 
blazin'  at  once,  the  same  day  that  some  others  of  'em 
was  down  on  Springfield,  and  the  same  day  Cap'n 
Pierce,  with  forty-nine  white  men  and  twenty-six 
Christian  Indians,  got  drawn  into  an  ambush,  and 
every  one  of  'em  killed.  Then  a  few  days  after  this 
they  burnt  forty  houses  at  Rehoboth,  and  a  little 
while  after  they  burnt  thirty  more  at  Providence. 
And  then  when  good  Cap'n  Wadsworth  went  with 
seventy  men  to  help  the  people  in  Sudbury,  the 
Indians  came  pourin'  round  'em  in  the  woods  like  so 
many  wolves,  and  killed  all  but  four  or  five  on  'ein  ; 
and  those  poor  fellows  had  better  hev  been  killed, 
for  the  cruel  critters  jest  tormented  'em  to  death,  and 
mocked  and  jeered  at  their  screeches  and  screams  like 
so  many  divils.  Then  they  went  and  broke  loose  on 
Andover ;  and  they  was  so  cruel  they  couldn't  even 


166  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

let  the  dumb  critters  alone.  They  cut  out  the 
tongues  of  oxen  and  cows,  and  left  'em  bleedin',  and 
some  they  fastened  up  in  barns  and  burnt  alive. 
There  wa'n't  no  sort  o'  diviltry  they  wa'n't  up  to. 
Why,  it  got  to  be  so  in  them  days  that  folks  couldn't 
go  to  bed  in  peace  without  startin'  every  time  they 
turned  over  for  fear  o'  the  Indians.  Ef  they  heard 
a  noise  in  the  night,  or  ef  the  wind  squealed  and 
howled,  as  the  wind  will,  they'd  think  sure  enough 
there  was  that  horrid  yell  a  comin'  down  chimbley. 

"  There  was  Delily  Severence  ;  she  says  to  me, 
speakin'  about  them  times,  says  she,  '  Why,  Mr.  Law- 
son,  you've  no  idee  !  Why,  that  'are  screech,'  says 
she,  '  wa'n't  like  no  other  noise  in  heaven  above,  or 
earth  beneath,  or  water  under  the  earth,'  says  she. 
4  When  it  started  ye  out  o'  bed  between  two  or  three 
o'clock  in  the  mornin',  and  all  your  children  a  cryin', 
and  the  Indians  a  screechin'  and  yellin'  and  a  tossin' 
up  firebrands,  fust  at  one  window  and  then  at  another, 
why,'  says  she,  '  Mr.  Lawson,  it  was  more  like  hell 
upon  earth  than  any  thing  I  ever  heard  on.' 

"  Ye  see,  they  come  down  on  Delily's  house  when 
she  was  but  jest  up  arter  her  third  baby.  That  'are 


COLONEL  EPH'S   SHOE-BUCKLES.  167 

woman  hed  a  handsome  head  o'  hair  as  ever  ye  see, 
black  as  a  crow's  wing ;  and  it  turned  jest  as  white 
as  a  table-cloth,  with  nothin'  but  the  fright  o'  that 
night." 

"  What  did  they  do  with  her  ?  h 

"  Oh  !  they  took  her  and  her  poor  little  gal  and  boy, 
that  wa'n't  no  older  than  you  be,  and  went  off  with 
'em  to  Canada.  The  troubles  them  poor  critters 
went  through  !  Her  husband  he  was  away  that  night ; 
and  well  he  was,  else  they'd  a  tied  him  to  a  tree  and 
stuck  pine  slivers  into  him  and  sot  'em  afire,  and  cut 
gret  pieces  out  'o  his  flesh,  and  filled  the  places  with 
hot  coals  and  ashes,  and  all  sich  kind  o'  things  they 
did  to  them  men  prisoners,  when  they  catched  'em. 
Delily  was  thankful  enough  he  was  away  ;  but  they 
took  her  and  the  children  off  through  the  ice  and 
snow,  jest  half  clothed  and  shiverin' ;  and  when  her 
baby  cried  and  worried,  as  it  nat'rally  would,  the  old 
Indian  jest  took  it  by  its  heels,  and  dashed  its  brains 
out  agin  a  tree,  and  threw  it  into  the  crotch  of  a  tree, 
and  left  it  dangling  there  ;  and  then  they  would  mock 
and  laugh  at  her,  and  mimic  her  baby's  crying,  and 
try  every  way  they  could  to  aggravate  her.  Thev 


168  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

used  to  beat  and  torment  her  children  right  before 
her  eyes,  and  pull  their  hair  out,  and  make  believe 
that  they  was  goin'  to  burn  'em  alive,  jest  for  nothin? 
but  to  frighten  and  worry  her." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  I,  "  she  ever  got  back  alive." 
"  Wai,  the  wimmen  in  them  times  hed  a  sight  o' 
wear  in  'em.  They  was  resolute,  strong,  hard- 
workin'  wimmen.  They  could  all  tackle  a  hoss,  or  load 
and  fire  a  gun.  They  was  brought  up  hard,  and  they 
was  used  to  troubles  and  dangers.  It's  jest  as  folks 
gets  used  to  things  how  they  takes  'em.  In  them 
days  folks  was  brought  up  to  spect  trouble ;  they 
didn't  look  for  no  less.  Why,  in  them  days  the  men 
allers  took  their  guns  into  the  field  when  they  went 
to  hoe  corn,  and  took  their  guns  with  'em  to  meetin' 
Sundays  ;  and  the  wimmen  they  kep'  a  gun  loaded 
where  they  knew  where  to  find  it ;  and  when  trouble 
come  it  was  jest  what  they  spected,  and  they  was  put 
even  with  it.  That's  the  sort  o'  wimmen  they  was. 
Wai,  Delily  and  her  children  was  brought  safe 
through  at  last,  but  they  hed  a  hard  time  on't." 

"Tell  us  some  more  stories  about  Indians,  Sam," 
we  said,  with  the  usual  hungry  impatience  of  boys  fof 
a  story. 


COLONEL  EPH'S   SHOE-BUCKLES.  169 

"  Wai,  let  me  see,"  said  Sam,  with  his  hat  pushed 
back  and  his  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  top  of  Eliot's 
oak,  which  was  now  yellow  with  the  sunset  glory,  — 
"  let  me  see.  I  hain't  never  told  ye  about  Col.  Eph 
Miller,  hev  I  ?" 

"  No,  indeed.     What  about  him  ?  " 

"  Wai,  he  was  took  prisoner  by  the  Indians ;  and 
they  was  goin'  to  roast  him  alive  arter  their  fashion, 
and  he  gin  'em  the  slip." 

"  Do  tell  us  all  about  it." 

"  Wai,  you  see,  Deliverance  Scranton  over  to  Sher- 
burne,  she's  Col.  Eph's  daughter;  and  she  used  to 
hear  her  father  tell  about  that,  and  she's  told  me 
time  and  agin  about  it.  It  was  this  way,  — 

"  You  see,  there  hedn't  ben  no  alarm  about  Indians 
for  some  time,  and  folks  hed  got  to  feelin'  kind  o'  easy, 
as  folks  will.  When  there  don't  nothin'  happen  for 
a  good  while,  and  it  keeps  a  goin'  on  so,  why,  you 
think  finally  there  won't  nothin'  happen ;  and  so  it 
was  with  Col.  Eph  and  his  wife.  She  told  Deliv 
erance  that  the  day  before  she  reely  hed  forgot 
all  about  that  there  was  any  Indians  in  the  country  ; 
and  she'd  been  out  after  spruce  and  wintergreeri  and 

15 


170  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE    STORIES. 

hemlock,  and  got  over  her  brass  kettle  to  bile  for 
beer;  and  the  child'n  they  brought  in  lots  o'  wild 
grapes  that  they  gathered  out  in  the  woods ;  and 
they  said  when  they  came  home  that  they  thought 
they  see  an  Indian  a  lyin'  all  along  squirmin'  through 
the  bushes,  and  peekin'  out  at  'em  lik£_a_snake,  but 
they  wa'n't  quite  sure.  Faith,  the  oldest  gal,  she 
was  sure  she  see  him  quite  plain ;  but  'Bijah  (he  was 
Col.  Eph's  oldest  boy)  he  wa'n't  so  sure. 

"  Anyway,  they  didn't  think  no  more  about  it , 
and  that  night  they  hed  prayers  and  went  off  to 
bed. 

"  Arterwards,  Col.  Eph  he  said  he  remembered 
the  passage  o'  Scriptur'  he  read  that  night ;  it  was, 
4  The  race  is  not  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle  to  the 
strong.'  He  didn't  notice  it  much  when  he  read  it ; 
but  he  allers  spoke  of  it  arter wards  as  a  remarkable 
providence  that  that  'are  passage  should  have  come 
jest  so  that  night. 

"  Wai,  atween  twelve  and  one  o'clock  they  was 
waked  up  by  the  most  awful  screechin'  that  ever  you 
heard,  as  if  twenty  thousand  devils  was  upon  'em. 
Mis'  Miller  she  was  out  o'  bed  in  a  minit,  all  stand- 


COLONEL  EPH'S   SHOE-BUCKLES.  171 

in'.  4  O  husband,  husband,  the  Indians  are  on  us ! ' 
says  she  ;  and  sure  enough  they  was.  The  children, 
'Bijah  and  Faith  come  a  runnin'  in.  '  O  father, 
father !  what  shall  we  do  ?  ' 

"  Col.  Eph  was  a  man  that  allers  knew  in  a  minit 
what  to  do,  and  he  kep'  quite  cool.  '  My  dear,'  says 
he  to  his  wife,  '  you  take  the  children,  and  jest  run 
with  'em  right  out  the  buttery-door  through  the  high 
corn,  and  run  as  fast  as  you  can  over  to  your  father 
Stebbins',  and  tell  him  to  rouse  the  town  ;  and  Bije,' 
says  he  to  the  boy,  4  you  jest  get  into  the  belfry  win 
dow,  and  ring  the  bell  with  all  your  might,'  says  he. 
4  And  I'll  stay  and  fight  'em  off  till  the  folks  come.' 

44  All  this  while  the  Indians  was  a  yellin'  and 
screechin'  and  a  wavin'  fire-brands  front  of  the 
house.  Col.  Eph  he  stood  a  lookin'  through  a  hole  in 
the  shutter  and  a  sightin'  his  gun  while  he  was  a 
talkin'.  He  see  that  they'd  been  a  pilin'  up  a  great 
pile  o'  dry  wood  agin  the  door.  But  the  fust  Indian 
that  came  up  to  put  fire  to't  was  shot  right  down 
while  he  was  a  speakin'. 

44  Wai,  Mis'  Miller  and  Faith  and  Bije  wa'n't  long 
a  dressin',  you  may  believe ;  and  they  jest  put  on 


172  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

dark  cloaks,  and  they  jest  streaked  it  out  through 
the  buttery-door  !  There  was  thick  pole-beans  quite 
up  to  the  buttery-door,  and  then  a  field  o'  high  corn, 
so  that  they  was  hid,  and  the  way  they  run  wasn't 
slow,  I  tsll  you. 

"  But  Col.  Eph  he  hed  to  stop  so  to  load  that  they 
got  the  pile  o'  brush  afire,  though  he  shot  down 
three  or  four  on  'em,  and  that  was  some  comfort. 
But  the  long  and  the  short  o'  the  matter  was,  that 
they  driv  the  door  in  at  last,  and  came  a  whoopin' 
and  yellin'  into  the  house. 

"  Wai,  they  took  Col.  Eph,  and  then  went  search- 
in'  round  to  find  somebody  else ;  but  jest  then  the 
meetin'-house  bell  begun  to  ring,  and  that  scart  'em, 
and  they  took  Col.  Eph  and  made  off  with  him.  He 
hedn't  but  jest  time  to  get  into  his  clothes  and  get 
his  shoes  on,  when  they  hurried  him  off.  They 
didn't  do  nothin'  to  him  jest  then,  you  see,  these 
Indians  was  so  cur'ous.  If  a  man  made  a  good 
fight,  and  killed  three  or  four  on  'em  afore  they  could 
take  him,  they  sot  great  store  by  him,  and  called 
him  a  brave  man.  And  so  they  was  'mazin'  careful 
of  Col.  Eph,  and  treated  him  quite  polite  for  Indians ; 


COLONEL  EPH'S  SHOE-BUCKLES.  173 

but  he  knew  the  ways  on  'em  well  enough  to  know 
what  it  was  all  for.  They  wanted  a  real  brave  man 
to  burn  alive  and  stick  slivers  into  and  torment,  and 
Col.  Eph  was  jest  the  pattern  for  'em,  and  his  fight- 
in'  so  brave  made  him  all  the  better  for  what  they 
wanted. 

"  Wai,  he  was  in  hopes  the  town  would  be  roused 
in  time  for  some  of  'em  to  come  arter  him  ;  but  the 
Indians  got  the  start  of  'em,  and  got  'way  off  in  the 
woods  afore  people  hed  fairly  come  together  and 
found  out  what  the  matter  was.  There  was  Col. 
Eph's  house  a  blazin'  and  a  lightin'  up  all  the  coun 
try  for  miles  round ;  and  the  colonel  he  said  it  come 
ruther  hard  on  him  to  be  lighted  on  his  way  through 
the  woods  by  such  a  bonfire. 

"  Wai,  by  mornhr  they  come  to  one  o'  their 
camps,  and  there  they  hed  a  great  rejoicin'  over  him. 
They  was  going  to  hev  a  great  feast,  and  a  good  time 
a  burnin'  on  him  ;  and  they  tied  him  to  a  tree,  and 
sot  an  Indian  to  watch  him  while  they  went  out  to 
cut  pine  knots  and  slivers  to  do  him  with. 

4  Wai,  as  I  said,  Col.  Eph  was  a  brave  man,  and  a 
man  that  always  kep'  his  thoughts  about  him ;  and  so 


174  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

he  kep'  a  workin'  and  a  workin'  with  the  withs  that 
was  round  his  hands,  and  a  prayin'  in  his  heart  to 
the  Lord,  till  he  got  his  right  hand  free.  Wai,  he 
didn't  make  no  move,  but  kep'  a  loosenin'  and  a 
loosenin'  little  by  little,  keepin'  his  eye  on  the  Indian 
who  sot  there  on  the  ground  by  him. 

"  Now,  Col.  Eph  hed  slipped  his  feet  into  his  Sun 
day  shoes  that  stood  there  by  the  bed  and  hed  great 
silver  shoe-buckles ;  and  there  was  a  providence  in 
his  doin'  so,  for,  ye  see,  Indians  are  'mazin'  fond  o' 
shiny  things.  And  the  old  Indian  he  was  took  with 
the  shine  o'  these  shoe-buckles,  and  he  thought  he 
might  as  well  hev  'em  as  anybody ;  so  he  jest  laid 
down  his  tommyhawk,  and  got  down  on  his  knees, 
and  was  workin'  away  as  earnest  as  could  be  to  get 
off  the  buckles,  and  Col.  Eph  he  jest  made  a  dart 
forward  and  picked  up  the  tommyhawk,  and  split 
open  the  Indian's  skull  with  one  blow  :  then  he  cut 
the  withs  that  was  round  his  legs,  and  in  a  minute 
he  was  off  on  the  run  with  the  tommyhawk  in  his 
hand.  There  was  three  Indians  give  chase  to  him, 
but  Col.  Eph  he  kep'  ahead  of  'em.  He  said  while 
he  was  a  runnin'  he  was  cryin,'  and  callin'  on  the  Lord 


"  He  was  took  with  the  shine  o'  these  shoe-buckles"  —  Page  174. 


COLONEL  EPH'S  SHOE-BUCKLES.       175 

with  all  his  might,  and  the  words  come  into  his  mind 
he  read  at  prayers  the  night  afore,  '  The  race  is  not 
to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong.' 

"  At  last  he  see  the  Indians  gained  on  him  ;  and  he 
faced  round  suddenly,  and  struck  the  nighest  one 
smack  on  the  head  with  his  tommyhawk.  Then 
when  the  next  one  come  up  he  cut  him  down  too ; 
and  the  third  one,  when  he  see  both  the  others  cut 
down,  and  Col.  Eph  comin'  full  blaze  towards  him 
with  his  tommyhawk  a  swingin',  he  jest  turned  and 
run  for  dear  life.  Then  Col.  Eph  he  turned  and  cut 
for  the  settlement.  He  run,  and  he  run,  and  he  run, 
he  didn't  well  know  how  long,  till,  finally,  he  was 
clear  tuckered  out,  and  he  jest  dropped  down  under  a 
tree  and  slept ;  and  he  lay  there  all  the  rest  of  that 
day,  and  all  night,  and  never  woke  till  the  next  day 
about  sundown. 

"  Then  he  woke  up,  and  found  he  was  close  by 
home,  and  John  Stebbins,  his  wife's  father,  and  a 
whole  party,  was  out  lookin'  for  him. 

"  Old  Col.  Eph  used  to  tell  the  story  as  long  as  he 
lived,  and  the  tears  used  to  run  down  his  cheeks 
when  he  told  it. 


176  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

"  '  There's  a  providence  in  every  thing,'  he  used  ts 
say,  '  even  down  to  shoe-buckles.  Ef  my  Sunday 
shoes  hadn't  happened  to  'a'  set  there  so  I  could  'a' 
slipped  into  'em,  I  couldn't  'a'  killed  that  Indian, 
and  I  shouldn't  'a'  been  here  to-day.'  Wai,  boys,  he 
was  in  the  right  on't.  Some  seem  to  think  the  Lord 
don't  look  out  only  for  gret  things,  but,  ye  see,  little 
things  is  kind  o'  hinges  that  gret  ones  turns  on. 
They  say,  take  care  o'  pennies,  and  dollars'll  take  care 
o'  themselves.  It's  jest  so  in  every  thing ;  and,  ef  the 
Lord  don't  look  arter  little  things,  he  ain't  so  gret  as 
they  say,  anyway. 

"  Wai,  wal,"  said  Sam  in  conclusion,  "  now,  who'd 
'a'  thought  that  anybody  could  'a'  made  any  thing 
out  o'  Indians  ?  Yet  there  'twas.  All  them  Martha 
Vineyard  Indians  turned  Christians,  and  there  was 
Indian  preachers  and  Indian  teachers ;  and  they  reely 
did  settle  down,  and  get  to  be  quite  like  folks.  But 
I  tell  you,  boys,  it  took  faith  to  start  with." 


THE    BULL-FIGHT. 


T    was    Saturday    afternoon,  —  time    of 
blessed  memory  to  boys,  —  and  we  were 
free   for   a   ramble    after   huckleberries ; 
and,  with  our  pails  in  hand,  were  making 
the   best   of    our  way   to    a   noted   spot 
where  that  fruit  was  most  abundant. 
Sam  was  with  us,  his  long  legs  striding  over  the 
ground  at  a  rate  that  kept  us  on  a  brisk  trot,  though 
he   himself    was   only   lounging   leisurely,  with   his 
usual  air  of  contemplation. 

"  Look  'ere,  boys,"  he  suddenly  said,  pausing  and 
resting  his  elbow  on  the  top  of  a  rail-fence,  "  we 
shall  jest  hev  to  go  back  and  go  round  by  Deakin 
Blodgett's  barn." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  we  both  burst  forth  in  eager  tones. 

m 


178  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  Wai,  don't  ye  see  the  deakin's  turned  in  his 
bull  into  this  'ere  lot  ?  " 

"  Who  cares  ?  "  said  I.     "  I  ain't  afraid." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Harry.  "  Look  at  him :  he  looks 
mild  enough  :  he  won't  hurt  us." 

"  Not  as  you  knows  on,"  said  Sam  ;  "  and  then, 
agin,  you  don't  know,  —  nobody  never  knows,  what 
one  o'  them  'ere  critters  will  do :  they's  jest  the  most 
contrary  critters ;  and  ef  you  think  they're  goin'  to 
do  one  way  they're  sure  to  do  t'other.  I  could  tell  ye 
•  a  story  now  that'd  jest  make  yer  har  stan'  on  eend." 

Of  course  we  wanted  to  have  our  hair  stand  on 
end,  and  beset  Sam  for  the  story ;  but  he  hung  off. 

"  Lordy  massy !  boys,  jest  let's  wait  till  ye've  got  yer 
huckleberries :  yer  granny  won't  like  it  ef  ye  don't 
bring  her  none,  and  Hepsy  she'll  be  in  my  har,  — 
what's  left  on't,"  said  Sam,  taking  off  his  old  torn 
hat,  and  rubbing  the  loose  shock  of  brash  and  griz 
zled  hair. 

So  we  turned  and  made  a  detour,  leaving  the  bull 
on  the  right,  though  we  longed  amazingly  to  have  a 
bout  with  him,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing,  and  mentally 
resolved  to  try  it  when  our  mentor  was  not  round. 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  179 

It  all  comes  back  to  me  again,  —  the  image  of  that 
huckleberry-pasture,  interwoven  with  fragrance  of 
sweet-fern,  and  the  ground  under  our  feet  embroidered 
with  star-moss  and  wintergreen,  or  foamy  patches  of 
mossy  frost-work,  that  crushed  and  crackled  delight 
fully  beneath  our  feet.  Every  now  and  then  a  tall, 
straight  fire-lily  —  black,  spotted  in  its  centre  —  rose 
like  a  little  jet  of  flame  ;  and  we  gathered  it  eagerly, 
though  the  fierce  August  sun  wilted  it  in  our  hands. 
The  huckleberry-bushes,  bending  under  their  purple 
weight,  we  gathered  in  large  armfuls,  and  took  them 
under  the  shadow  of  the  pine-trees,  that  we  might 
strip  them  at  our  leisure,  without  being  scorched  by 
the  intense  glare  of  the  sun.  Armful  after  armful 
we  carried  and  deposited  in  the  shade,  and  then  sat 
down  to  the  task  of  picking  them  off  into  our  pails. 
It  was  one  of  those  New^England  days  hotter  than 
the  tropics.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring,  not  a 
bird  sang  a  note,  not  a  sound  was  heard,  except  the 
drowsy  grating  of  the  locusts. 

"  Well,  now,  Sam,  now  tell  us  that  story  about 
the  bull." 

"  Lordy  massy,  how  hot  'tis  !  "   said  Sam,  lying 


180  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

back,  and  resting  on  the  roots  of  a  tree,  with  his 
hands  folded  under  his  head.  "  I'm  all  in  a  drip  of 
sweat." 

"  Well,  Sam,  we'll  pick  off  your  berries,  if  you'll 
talk." 

"  Wall,  wall,  be  kerful  yer  don't  git  no  green 
ones  in  among  'em,  else  Hepsy  '11  be  down  on  me. 
She's  drefful  partikelar,  she  is.  Every  thing  has  to 
be  jest  so.  Ef  it  ain't,  you'll  hear  on't.  Lordy 
massy  !  boys,  she's  always  telling  me  I  don't  do  noth- 
in'  for  the  support  of  the  family.  I  leave  it  to  you 
if  I  didn't  ketch  her  a  nice  mess  o'  fish  a  Tuesday. 
I  tell  her  folks  can't  expect  to  roll  in  money,  and 
allers  to  have  every  thing  jess  'z  they  want  it.  We 
brought  nothin'  into  the  world  with  us,  and  it's 
sartain  we  ken  carry  nothin'  out ;  and,  having  food 
and  raiment,  we  ought  to  be  content.  We  have 
ben  better  ofPn  we  be  now.  Why,  boys,  I've  seen 
the  time  that  I've  spent  thirty-seven  cents  a  week 
for  nutmegs  ;  but  Hepsy  hain't  no  gratitude  :  such 
folks  hez  to  be  brought  down.  Take  care,  now,  yer 
ain't  a-putting  green  ones  in ;  be  yer  ?  " 

"  Sam,  we  sha'n't  put  in  any  at  all,  if  you  don't 
tell  us  that  story." 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  181 

"  Lordy  massy  !  you  young  ones,  there  ain't  never 
no  contentin'  yer,  ef  a  fellow  was  to  talk  to  the  mil 
lennium.  Wonder  now  if  there  is  going  to  be  any 
millennium.  Wish  I'd  waited,  and  been  born  in 
them  days,  'spect  things  would  a  sorter  come  along 
easier.  Wall,  I  shall  git  through  some  way,  I 
s'pose." 

"  Sam,"  said  I,  sitting  back,  "  we're  putting  all  our 
berries  into  }7our  pail ;  and,  if  you  don't  begin  to  tell 
us  a  story,  we  won't  do  it." 

"  Lordy  massy  !  boys,  I'm  kind  o'  collectin'  my 
idees.  Ye  have  to  talk  a  while  to  git  a-goin', 
everybody  does.  Wai,  about  this  'ere  story.  Ye 
'member  that  old  brown  house,  up  on  the  hill  there, 
that  we  saw  when  we  come  round  the  corner  ? 
That  'are  was  where  old  Mump  Moss  used  to  live. 
Old  Mump  was  consid'able  of  a  nice  man  :  he  took 
in  Ike  Sanders,  Mis'  Moss's  sister's  boy,  to  help  him 
on  the  farm,  and  did  by  him  pretty  much  ez  he  did 
by  his  own.  Bill  Moss,  Mump's  boy,  he  was  a  con- 
trairy  kind  o'  critter,  and  he  was  allers  a-hectorin' 
Ike.  He  was  allers  puttin'  off  the  heaviest  end  of 
every  thing  on  to  him.  He'd  shirk  his  work,  and  git 

16 


182  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

it  off  on  to  Ike  every  way  he  could.  And  he  allers 
threw  it  up  at  him  that  he  was  eatin'  his  father's 
bread ;  and  he  watched  every  mouthful  he  ate,  as  if 
he  hated  to  see  it  go  down.  Wai,  ye  see,  for  all  that. 
Ike  he  growed  up  tall  and  strong,  and  a  real  handsome 
young  feller;  and  everybody  liked  him.  And  Bill  lie 
was  so  gritty  and  contrairy,  that  his  own  mother  and 
sisters  couldn't  stan'  him ;  and  he  was  allers  a-flingin' 
it  up  at  'em  that  they  liked  Ike  more'n  they  did  him. 
Finally  his  mother  she  said  to  him  one  day,  '  Why 
shouldn't  I,'  sez  she,  4  when  Ike's  allers  pleasant  to 
me,  and  doin'  every  thing  he  ken  fur  me,  and  you 
don't  do  nothin'  but  scold.'  That  'are,  you  see,  was 
a  kind  o'  home-thrust,  and  Bill  he  didn't  like  Ike  a 
bit  the  better  for  that.  He  did  every  thing  he  could 
to  plague  him,  and  hector  him,  and  sarcumvent  him, 
and  set  people  agin  him. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  'twas  the  old  story  about  Jacob  and 
Laban  over  agin.  Every  thing  that  Ike  put  his 
hand  to  kind  o'  prospered.  Everybody  liked  him, 
everybody  hed  a  good  word  for  him,  everybody 
helped  grease  his  wheels.  Wai,  come  time  when 
he  was  twenty-one,  old  Mump  he  gin  him  a  settin'- 


THE  BULL-FIGHT.  183 

out.  He  gin  him  a  freedom  suit  o'  clothes,  and 
he  gin  him  a  good  cow,  and  Mis'  Moss  she  knit 
him  up  a  lot  o'  stockings,  and  the  gals  they  made  him 
up  his  shirts.  Then,  Ike  he  got  a  place  with  Squire 
Wells,  and  got  good  wages ;  and  he  bought  a  little 
bit  o'  land,  with  a  house  on  it,  on  Squire  Wells's 
place,  and  took  a  mortgage  on't,  to  work  off.  He 
used  to  work  his  own  land,  late  at  night  and  early 
in  the  mornin',  over  and  above  givin'  good  days' 
works  to  the  squire ;  and  the  old  squire  he  sot  all 
the  world  by  him,  and  said  he  hedn't  hed  sich  a  man 
to  work  since  he  didn't  know  when. 

"  Wai,  a  body  might  ha'  thought  that  when  Bill  had 
a  got  him  out  o'  the  house,  he  might  ha'  ben  satisfied, 
but  he  wasn't.  He  was  an  ugly  fellow,  Bill  Moss 
was ;  and  a  body  would  ha'  thought  that  every  thing 
good  that  happened  to  Ike  was  jest  so  much  took 
from  him.  Come  to  be  young  men,  growed  up  to 
gether,  and  waitin'  on  the  gals  round,  Ike  he  was 
pretty  apt  to  cut  Bill  out.  Yer  see,  though  Bill  was 
goin'  to  have  the  farm,  and  all  old  Mump's  money, 
he  warn't  pleasant-spoken  ;  and  so,  when  the  gaLs 
got  a  chance,  they'd  allers  rather  go  with  Ike  than 


184     .  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

him.  Finally,  there  was  Delily  Sawin,  she  was 
about  the  handsomest  girl  there  was  round,  and 
she  hed  all  the  fellers  arter  her ;  and  her  way  was 
to  speak  'em  all  fair,  and  keep  'em  all  sort  o'  waitin* 
and  hopin',  till  she  got  ready  to  make  her  mind  up. 
She'd  entertain  Bill  Saturday  night,  and  she'd  tell 
Ike  he  might  come  Sunday  night ;  and  so  Ike  he  was 
well  pleased,  and  Bill  he  growled. 

"  Wai,  there  come  along  a  gret  cattle-show. 
Squire  Wells  he  got  it  up :  it  was  to  be  the  gretest 
kind  of  a  time,  and  Squire  Wells  he  give  money 
fur  prizes.  There  was  to  be  a  prize  on  the  best 
cow,  and  the  best  bull,  and  the  best  ox,  and  the 
best  horse,  and  the  biggest  punkins  and  squashes 
and  beets,  and  there  was  a  prize  for  the  best  loaf  o' 
bread,  and  the  best  pair  o'  stockin's,  and  the  hand 
somest  bed-quilt,  and  the  rest  o'  women's  work. 
Wai,  yer  see,  there  was  a  gret  to-do  about  the 
cattle-show ;  and  the  wagons  they  came  in  from  all 
around,  —  ten  miles  ;  and  the  gals  all  dressed  up  in 
their  best  bunnits,  and  they  had  a  ball  in  the  evenin'. 
Wai,  ye  see,  it  so  happened  that  Bill  and  Ike  each 
on  'em  sent  a  bull  to  the  cattle-show ;  and  Jke's  bull 


THE   BULL-FIGHT.  185 

took  the  prize.  That  put  the  cap-sheaf  on  for  Bill. 
He  was  jest  about  as  much  riled  as  a  feller  could  be ; 
and  that  evenin'  Delily  she  danced  with  Ike  twice  as 
many  times  ez  she  did  with  him.  Wai,  Bill  he  got 
it  round  among  the  fellers  that  the  jedges  hed  been 
partial ;  and  he  said,  if  them  bulls  was  put  together, 
his  bull  would  whip  Ike's  all  to  thunder.  Wai,  the 
fellers  thought  'twould  be  kind  o'  fun  to  try  'em,  and 
they  put  Ike  up  to  it.  And  finally  'twas  agreed  that 
Ike's  bull  should  be  driv  over  to  old  Mump's  ;  and 
the  Monday  after  \the  cattle-show,  they  should  let 
'em  out  into  the  meadow  together  and  see  which 
was  the  strongest.  So  there  was  a  Sunday  the  bulls 
they  were  both  put  up  together  in  the  same  barn ; 
and  the  'greement  was,  they  wasn't  to  be  looked  at 
nor  touched  till  the  time  come  to  turn  'em  out. 

"  Come  Sunday  mornin',  they  got  up  the  wagon  to 
go  to  meetin' ;  and  Mis'  Moss  and  the  gals  and  old 
Mump,  they  was  all  ready  ;  and  the  old  yaller  dog  he 
was  standrn'  waitin'  by  the  wagon,  and  Bill  warn't 
nowhere  to  be  found.  So  they  sent  one  o'  the  girls 
up  chamber  to  see  what'd  got  him ;  and  there  he  was 
a-lyin'  on  the  bed,  and  said  he'd  got  a  drefful  head- 
is* 


186  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

ache,  and  didn't  think  he  could  go  to  meetin'.  Wai, 
the  second  bell  was  a-tollin',  and  they  had  to  drive 
off  without  him:  they  never  mistrusted  but  what 
'twas  jest  so.  Wai,  yer  see,  boys,  'twas  that  'are  kind 
o'  Sunday  headache  that  sort  o'  gets  better  when  the 
folks  is  all  fairly  into  meetin'.  So,  when  the  wagon 
was  fairly  out  o'  sight,  Bill  he  thought  he'd  jest  go 
and  have  a  peek  at  them  bulls.  Wai,  he  looked  and 
he  peeked,  and  finally  he  thought  they  looked  so 
sort  o'  innocent  'twouldn't  do  no  harm  to  jest  let  'em 
have  a  little  run  in  the  cow-yard  aforehand.  He 
kind  o'  wanted  to  see  how  they  was  likely  to  cut  up. 
Now,  ye  see,  the  mischief  about  bulls  is,  that  a  body 
never  knows  what  they's  goin'  to  do,  'cause  whatever 
notion  takes  'em  allers  comes  into  their  heads  so 
kind  o'  sudd  4'.'.,  and  it's  jest  a  word  and  a  blow  with 
'em.  Wai,  ^  fust  he  let  out  his  bull,  and  then  he 
went  in  and  let  out  Ike's.  Wai,  the  very  fust  thing 
that  critter  did  he  run  up  to  Bill's  bull,  full  tilt,  and 
jest  gin  one  rip  with  his  horns  right  in  the  side  of 
him,  and  knocked  him  over  and  killed  him.  Didn't 
die  right  off,  but  he  was  done  for ;  and  Bill  he  gin  a 
yell,  and  run  right  up  and  hit  him  with  a  stick,  and 


"  He  bethought  him  of  old  Mump  'sgun." —  Page  187. 


THE   BULL-FIGHT.  187 

the  old  feller  turned  right  round,  and  come  at  him. 
I  tell  you,  Bill  he  turned  and  made  a  straight  coat- 
tail,  rippin'  and  peelin'  it  towards  the  house,  and  the 
bull  tearin'  on  right  arter  him.  Into  the  kitchen  he 
went,  and  he  hedn't  no  time  to  shut  the  door,  and 
the  bull  arter  him ;  and  into  the  keepin'-room,  and 
the  bull  arter  him  there.  And  he  hedn't  but  jest 
time  to  git  up  the  chamber-stairs,  when  he  heard  the 
old  feller  roarin'  and  tearin'  round  there  like  all  na- 
tur.  Fust  he  went  to  the  lookin'-glass,  and  smashed 
that  all  to  pieces.  Then  he  histed  the  table  over, 
and  he  rattled  and  smashed  the  chairs  round,  and  made 
such  a  roarin'  and  noise,  ye'd  ha'  thought  there  was 
seven  devils  there;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  Bill  he 
looked  out  of  the  window,  and  see  the  wagon 
a-comin'  back ;  and  '  Lordy  massy  I '  he  thought  to 
himself,  '  the  bull  '11  kill  every  one  on  'em,'  and  he 
run  to  the  window  and  yelled  and  shouted,  and  they 
saw  him,  and  thought  the  house  must  be  afire. 
Finally,  he  bethought  him  of  old  Mump's  gun,  arid 
he  run  round  and  got  it,  and  poked  it  through  a 
crack  of  the  chamber-door,  and  fired  off  bang !  and 
shot  him  dead,  jest  as  Mis'  Moss  and  the  girls  was 
comin'  into  the  kitchen-door. 


188  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

"  Wai,  there  was,  to  be  sure,  the  'bomination  o1 
desolation  when  they  come  in  and  found  every  thing 
all  up  in  a  heap  and  broke  to  pieces,  and  the  old 
critter  a-kickin'  and  bleedin'  all  over  the  carpet,  and 
Bill  as  pale  as  his  shirt-tail  on  the  chamber-stairs. 
They  had  an  awful  mess  on't ;  and  there  was  the  two 
bulls  dead  and  to  be  took  care  uv. 

"4Wal,  Bill,"  said  his  father,  "I  hope  yer  satis 
fied  now.  All  that  comes  o'  stayin'  to  home  from 
meetin',  and  keepin'  temporal  things  in  yer  head  all 
day  Sunday.  You've  lost  your  own  bull,  you've  got 
Ike's  to  pay  for,  and  ye'll  have  the  laugh  on  yer  all 
round  the  country.' 

" c  I  expect,  father,  we  ken  corn  the  meat,'  says 
Mis'  Moss,  '  and  maybe  the  hide'll  sell  for  some 
thing,'  sez  she ;  for  she  felt  kind  o'  tender  for  Bill, 
V  and  didn't  want  to  bear  down  too  hard  on  him. 

"  Wai,  the  story  got  round,  and  everybody  was 
a-throwin'  it  up  at  Bill ;  and  Delily,  in  partikelar, 
hectored  him  about  it  till  he  wished  the  bulls  had  been 
in  the  Red  Sea  afore  he'd  ever  seen  one  on  'em. 
Wai,  it  really  driv  him  out  o'  town,  and  he  went  off 
out  West  to  settle,  and  nobody  missed  him  much  ; 


THE  BULL-FIGHT. 


189 


and  Ike  he  married  Delily,  and  they  grew  from  bet 
ter  to  better,  till  now  they  own  jest  about  as  pretty 
a  farm  as  there  is  round.  Yer  remember  that  white 
bouse  with  green  blinds,  that  we  passed  when  we 
was  goin'  to  the  trout-brook  ?  Wai,  that  'ere's  the 
one." 


HOW    TO    FIGHT    THE    DEVIL. 


OOK  here,  boys,"  said  Sam,  "don't 
you  want  to  go  with  me  up  to  the 
Devil's  Den  this  arternoon  ?  " 

"  Where  is  the  Devil's  Den,"  said  I, 
with  a  little  awe. 

"  Wai,  it's  a  longer  tramp  than  I've 
ever  took  ye.  It's  clear  up  past  the 
pickerel  pond,  and  beyond  old  Skunk  John's  pasture- 
lot.  It's  a  'mazin'  good  place  for  raspberries; 
shouldn't  wonder  if  we  should  get  two,  three  quarts 
there.  Great  rocks  there  higher  'n  yer  head  ;  kinder 
solemn,  'tis." 

This  was  a  delightful  and  seductive  account,  and 
we  arranged  for  a  walk  that  very  afternoon. 
In  almost  every  New-England  village  the  person- 

190 


Wai,  Pm  the  Devil,  scz  he."  —  Page  199. 


HOW  TO   FIGHT   THE   DEVIL.  191 

ality  of  Satan  has  been  acknowledged  by  calling  by 
his  name  some  particular  rock  or  cave,  or  other  natu 
ral  object  whose  singularity  would  seem  to  suggest  a 
more  than  mortal  occupancy.  "  The  Devil's  Punch 
bowl,"  "  The  Devil's  Wash-bowl,"  "  The  Devil's  Ket 
tle,"  "The  Devil's  Pulpit,"  and  "  The  Devil's  Den," 
have  been  designations  that  marked  places  or  objects 
of  some  striking  natural  peculiarity.  Often  these  are 
found  in  the  midst  of  the  most  beautiful  and  romantic 
scenery,  and  the  sinister  name  seems  to  have  no  effect  in 
lessening  its  attractions.  To  me,  the  very  idea  of 
going  to  the  Devil's  Den  was  full  of  a  pleasing  horror. 
When  a  boy,  I  always  lived  in  the  shadowy  edge  of  that 
line  which  divides  spirit  land  from  mortal  life,  and  it 
was  my  delight  to  walk  among  its  half  lights  and 
shadows.  The  old  graveyard  where,  side  by  side, 
mouldered  the  remains  of  Indian  sachems  and  the 
ancients  of  English  blood,  was  my  favorite  haunt.  I 
loved  to  sit  on  the  graves  while  the  evening  mists 
firose  from  them,  and  to  fancy  cloudy  forms  waving 
and  beckoning.  To  me,  this  spirit  land  was  my  only 
refuge  from  the  dry  details  of  a  hard,  prosaic  life. 
The  schoolroom  —  with  its  hard  seats  rudely  fashioned 


192  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

from  slabs  of  rough  wood,  with  its  clumsy  desks, 
hacked  and  ink-stained,  with  its  unintelligible  text 
books  and  its  unsympathetic  teacher  —  was  to  me  a 
prison  out  of  whose  weary  windows  I  watched  the 
pomp  and  glory  of  nature,  —  the  free  birds  singing, 
(lie  clouds  sailing,  the  trees  waving  and  whispering, 
—  and  longed,  as  earnestly  as  ever  did  the  Psalmist, 
to  flee  far  away,  and  wander  in  the  wilderness. 

Hence,  no  joy  of  after  life  —  nothing  that  the 
world  has  now  to  give  —  can  equal  that  joyous  sense 
of  freedom  and  full  possession  which  came  over  me 
on  Saturday  afternoons,  when  I  started  off  on  a  tramp 
with  the  world  all  before  me,  —  the  mighty,  unex 
plored  world  of  mysteries  and  possibilities,  bounded 
only  by  the  horizon.  Ignorant  alike  of  all  science, 
neither  botanist  nor  naturalist,  I  was  studying  at  first 
hand  all  that  lore  out  of  which  science  is  made. 
Every  plant  and  flower  had  a  familiar  face  to  me, 
and  said  something  to  my  imagination.  I  knew 
where  each  was  to  be  found,  its  time  of  coming  and 
going,  and  met  them  year  after  year  as  returning 
friends. 

So  it  was  with  joyous  freedom  that  we  boys  ram- 


HOW  TO  FIGHT  THE  DEVIL.  19.'3 

bled  off  with  Sam  this  afternoon,  intent  to  find  the 
Devil's  Den.  It  was  a  ledge  of  granite  rocks  rising  in 
the  midst  of  a  grove  of  pines  and  white  birches.  The 
ground  was  yellow  and  slippery  with  the  fallen 
needles  of  the  pines  of  other  days,  and  the  glistening 
white  stems  of  the  birches  shone  through  the  shado  ws 
like  ivory  pillars.  Underneath  the  great  granite 
ledges,  all  sorts  of  roots  and  plants  grappled  and  kept 
foothold ;  and  whole  armies  of  wild  raspberries-  ma 
tured  their  fruit,  rounder  and  juicier  for  growing  in 
the  shade. 

In  one  place  yawned  a  great  rift,  or  cavern,  as  if 
the  rocks  had  been  violently  twisted  and  wrenched 
apart,  and  a  mighty  bowlder  lodging  in  the  rift  had 
roofed  it  over,  making  a  cavern  of  most  seductive 
darkness  and  depth.  This  was  the  Devil's  Den ;  and 
after  we  had  picked  our  pail  full  of  berries,  we  sat 
down  there  to  rest. 

"  Sam,  do  you  suppose  the  Devil  ever  was  here  ?  " 
said  I.  "  What  do  they  call  this  his  den  for  ?  " 

"  Massy,  child !  that  'are  was  in  old  witch  times. 
There  used  to  be  witch  meetins'  held  here,  and  awful 
doins' ;  they  used  to  have  witch  sabba'  days  and 


194  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

witch  sacraments,   arid  sell  their  souls   to   the   old 
boy." 

"  What  should  they  want  to  do  that  for  ?  " 

"  Wai,  sure  enough ;  what  was  it  for  ?  I  can't 
make  out  that  the  Devil  ever  gin  'em  any  thing,  any 
on  'em.  They  warn't  no  richer,  nor  didn't  get  no 
more  'n  this  world  than  the  rest ;  and  they  was  took 
and  hung ;  and  then  ef  they  went  to  torment  after 
that,  they  hed  a  pretty  bad  bargain  on't,  I  say." 

"  Well,  people  don't  do  such  things  any  more,  do 
they  ?  "  said  I. 

44  No,"  said  Sam.  "  Since  the  gret  fuss  and  row-de- 
dow  about  it,  it's  kind  o'  died  out ;  but  there's  those, 
I  s'pose,  that  hez  dealins'  with  the  old  boy.  Folks 
du  say  that  old  Ketury  was  a  witch,  and  that,  ef  't 
ben  in  old  times,  she'd  a  hed  her  neck  stretched  ;  but 
she  lived  and  died  in  peace." 

44  But  do  you  think,"  said  I,  now  proposing  the 
question  that  lay  nearest  my  heart,  "  that  the  Devil 
can  hurt  us  ?  " 

44  That  depends  consid'able  jn  how  you  take  him," 
said  Sam.  44  Ye  see,  come  to  a  straight  out-an'-out 
fight  with  him,  he'll  git  the  better  on  yer." 


HOW  TO  FIGHT  THE  DEVIL.  195 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  Christian  did  fight  Apollyon,  and 
got  him  down  too." 

I  had  no  more  doubt  in  those  days  that  this  was  an 
historic  fact  than  I  had  of  the  existence  of  Romulus 
and  Remus  and  the  wolf. 

"  Wai,  that  'ere  warn't  jest  like  real  things  :  they 
say  that  'ere's  an  allegory.  But  I'll  tell  ye  how  old 
Sarah  Bunganuck  fit  the  Devil,  when  he  'peared  to 
her.  Ye  see,  old  Sarah  she  was  one  of  the  con 
verted  Injuns,  and  a  good  old  critter  she  was  too ; 
worked* hard,  and  got  her  livin'  honest.  She  made 
baskets,  and  she  made  brooms,  and  she  used  to  pick 
young  wintergreen  and  tie  it  up  in  bunches,  and  dig 
sassafras  and  ginsing  to  make  beer ;  and  she  got  her 
a  little  bit  o'  land,  right  alongside  o'  Old  Black  Hoss 

John's  white-birch  wood-lot. 

» 

"  Now,  I've  heerd  some  o'  these  'ere  modern  min 
isters  that  come  down  from  Cambridge  college,  and 
are  larnt  about  every  thing  in  creation,  they  say 
there  ain't  no  devil,  and  the  reason  on't  is,  'cause 
there  can't  be  none.  These  'ere  fellers  is  so  sort  o' 
green!  —  they  don't  mean  no  harm,  but  they  don't 
know  nothin'  about  nobody  that  does.  If  they'd  ha* 


196  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

known  old  Black  Hoss  John,  they'd  ha'  been  putty 
sure  there  was  a  devil.  He  was  jest  the  Grossest, 
ugliest  critter  that  ever  ye  see,  and  he  was  ugly 
jest  for  the  sake  o'  ugliness.  He  couldn't  bear 
to  let  the  boys  pick  huckleberries  in  his  paster  lots, 
when  he  didn't  pick  'em  himself;  and  he  was  allers 
jawin'  me  'cause  I  would  go  trout-fishin'  in  one  o' 
his  pasters.  Jest  ez  if  the  trout  that  swims  warn't 
the  Lord's,  and  jest  ez  much  mine  as  his.  He  grudged 
every  critter  every  thing ;  and  if  he'd  ha'  hed  his 
will  and  way,  every  bird  would  ha'  fell  down  dead 
that  picked  up  a  worm  on  his  grounds.  He  was  jest 
as  nippin'  as  a  black  frost.  Old  Black  Hoss  didn't 
git  drunk  in  a  regerlar  way,  like  Uncle  Eph  and 
Toddy  Whitney,  and  the  rest  o'  them  boys.  But  he 
jest  sot  at  home,  a-soakin'  on  cider,  till  he  was 
crosser'n  a  bear  with  a  sore  head.  Old  Black  Hoss 
hed  a  special  spite  agin  old  Sarah.  He  said  she 
was  an  old  witch  and  an  old  thief,  and  that  she  stole 
things  ofPn  his  grounds,  when  everybody  knew  that 
she  was  a  regerlar  church-member,  and  as  decent  an 
old  critter  as  there  was  goin'.  As  to  her  stealin', 
she  didn't  do  nothin'  but  pick  huckleberries  and 


HOW  TO  FIGHT  THE   DEVIL.  197 

grapes,  and  git  chesnuts  and  wannuts,  and  butter 
nuts,  and  them  'ere  wild  things  that's  the  Lord's, 
grow  on  whose  land  they  will,  and  is  free  to  all. 
I've  hearn  'em  tell  that,  over  in  the  old  country,  the 
poor  was  kept  under  so,  that  they  couldn't  shoot  a 
bird,  nor  ketch  a  fish,  nor  gather  no  nuts,  nor  do 
nothin'  to  keep  from  starvin',  'cause  the  quality 
folks  they  thought  they  owned  every  thing,  'way- 
down  to  the  middle  of  the  earth  and  clear  up  to 
the  stars.  We  never  hed  no  sech  doin's  this  side  of 
the  water,  thank  the  Lord !  We've  allers  been  free  to 
have  the  chesnuts  and  the  wannuts  and  the  grapes 
and  the  huckleberries  and  the  strawberries,  ef  we 
could  git  'em,  and  ketch  fish  when  and  where  we 
was  a  mind  to.  Lordy  massy !  your  grandthur's  old 
Cesar,  he  used  to  call  the  pond  his  pork-pot.  He'd 
jest  go  down  and  throw  in  a  line  and  ketch  his  din 
ner.  Wai,  Old  Black  Hoss  he  know'd  the  law  was  so, 
and  he  couldn't  do  nothin'  agin  her  by  law  ;  but  he 
sarved  her  out  every  mean  trick  he  could  think  of. 
He  used  to  go  and  stan'  and  lean  over  her  garden- 
gate  and  jaw  at  her  an  hour  at  a  time  ;  but  old 
Sarah  she  had  the  Injun  in  her  ;  she  didn't  run  to  talk 


198  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

much  :  she  used  to  jest  keep  on  with  her  weedin 
and  her  work,  jest's  if  he  warn't  there,  and  that  made 
Old  Black  IIoss  madder'n  ever  ;  and  he  thought  he'd 
try  and  frighten  her  ofFn  the  ground,  by  makin'  on 
her  believe  he  was  the  Devil.  So  one  time,  when  he'd 
been  killin'  a  beef  critter,  they  took  off  the  skin 
with  the  horns  and  all  on  ;  and  Old  Black  Hoss  he  says 
to  Toddy  and  Eph  and  Loker,  '  You  jest  come  up  to 
night,  and  see  how  I'll  frighten  old  Sarah  Bunga- 
nuck.' 

"  Wai,  Toddy  and  Eph  and  Loker,  they  hedn't  no 
better  to  do,  and  they  thought  they'd  jest  go  round 
and  see.  Ye  see  'twas  a  moonlight  night,  and  old 
Sarah  —  she  was  an  industrious  critter  —  she  was 
cuttin'  white-birch  brush  for  brooms  in  th'e  paster-lot. 
Wai,  Old  Black  Hoss  he  wrapped  the  critter's  skin 
round  him,  with  the  horns  on  his  head,  and  come 
and  stood  by  the  fence,  and  begun  to  roar  and  make  a 
noise.  Old  Sarah  she  kept  right  on  with  her  work, 
cuttin'  her  brash  and  pilin'  on't  up,  and  jest  let  him 
roar.  Wai,  Old  Black  Hoss  felt  putty  foolish,  'spe 
cially  ez  the  fellers  were  waitin'  to  see  how  she  took 
it.  So  he  calls  out  in  a  grum  voice,  — 


HOW  TO   FIGHT  THE  DEVIL.  199 

"  '  Woman,  don't  yer  know  who  I  be  ?  " 

"  4  No,'  says  she  quite  quiet,  '  I  don't  know  who 
yer  be.' 

" c  Wai,  I'm  the  Devil,'  sez  he. 

"  '  Ye  be  ?  '  says  old  Sarah.  4  Poor  old  critter, 
how  I  pity  ye ! '  and  she  never  gin  him  another  word, 
but  jest  bundled  up  her  broom-stuff,  and  took  it  on 
her  back  and  walked  off,  and  Old  Black  Hoss  he  stood 
there  mighty  foolish  with  his  skin  and  horns  ;  and  so 
he  had  the  laugh  agin  him,  'cause  Eph  and  Loker 
they  went  and  told  the  story  down  to  the  tavern,  and 
he  felt  awful  cheap  to  think  old  Sarah  had  got 
the  upper  hands  on  him. 

"  Wai,  ye  see,  boys,  that  'ere's  jest  the  way  to  fight 
the  Devil.  Jest  keep  straight  on  with  what  ye're 
doin',  and  don't  ye  mind  him,  and  he  can't  do 
nothin'  to  ye." 


LAUGHIN'  IN  MEETTN'. 


E  were  in  disgrace,  we  boys ;  and  the 
reason  of  it  was  this :  we  had  laughed 
out  in  meeting-time  !  To  be  sure, 
the  occasion  was  a  trying  one,  even 
to  more  disciplined  nerves.  Parson 
Lothrop  had  exchanged  pulpits  with 
Parson  Summeral,  of  North  Wearem. 
Now,  Parson  Summeral  was  a  man  in  the  very  outset 
likely  to  provoke  the  risibles  of  unspiritualized  juve 
niles.  He  was  a  thin,  wiry,  frisky  little  man,  in  a 
powdered  white  wig,  black  tights,  and  silk  stockings, 
with  bright  knee-buckles  and  shoe-buckles;  with 
round,  dark,  snapping  eyes ;  and  a  curious,  high, 
cracked,  squeaking  voice,  the  very  first  tones  of  which 

made  all  the  children  stare  and  giggle,     The  news 
200 


LAUGHIN'   IN  MEETIN'.  201 

that  Parson  Summeral  was  going  to  preach  in  our 
village  spread  abroad  among  us  as  a  prelude  to  some 
thing  funny.  It  had  a  flavor  like  the  charm  of  circus- 
acting  ;  and,  on  the  Sunday  morning  of  our  story,  we 
went  to  the  house  of  God  in  a  very  hilarious  state, 
all  ready  to  set  off  in  a  laugh  on  the  slightest  provo 
cation. 

The  occasion  was  not  long  wanting.  Parson  Lo- 
throp  had  a  favorite  dog  yclept  Trip,  whose  behavior 
in  meeting  was  notoriously  far  from  that  edifying 
pattern  which  befits -a  minister's  dog  on  Sundays. 
Trip  was  a  nervous  dog,  and  a  dog  that  never  could 
be  taught  to  conceal  his  emotions  or  to  respect  con 
ventionalities.  If  any  thing  about  the  performance 
in  the  singers'  seat  did  not  please  him,  he  was  apt  to 
express  himself  in  a  lugubrious  howl.  If  the  sermon 
was  longer  than  suited  him,  he  would  gape  with  such 
a  loud  creak  of  his  jaws  as  would  arouse  everybody's 
attention.  If  the  flies  disturbed  his  afternoon's  nap, 
he  would  give  sudden  snarls  or  snaps  ;  or,  if  any 
thing  troubled  his  dreams,  he  would  bark  out  in  his 
sleep  in  a  manner  not  only  to  dispel  his  own  slumbers, 
but  those  of  certain  worthy  deacons  and  old  ladies, 


202  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

whose  sanctuary  repose  was  thereby  sorely  broken 
and  troubled.  For  all  these  reasons,  Madame  Lo- 
throp  had  been  fofced,  as  a  general  thing,  to  deny 
Trip  the  usual  sanctuary  privileges  of  good  family 
dogs  in  that  age,  and  shut  him  up  on  Sundays  to  pri 
vate  meditation.  Trip,  of  course,  was  only  the  more 
set  on  attendance,  and  would  hide  behind  doors, 
jump  out  of  windows,  sneak  through  by-ways  and 
alleys,  and  lie  hid  till  the  second  bell  had  done  toll 
ing,  when  suddenly  he  would  appear  in  the  broad 
aisle,  innocent  and  happy,  and  take  his  seat  as  com 
posedly  as  any  member  of  the  congregation. 

Imagine  us  youngsters  on  the  qui  vive  with  excite 
ment  at  seeing  Parson  Summeral  frisk  up  into  the 
pulpit  with  all  the  vivacity  of  a  black  grasshopper. 
We  looked  at  each  other,  and  giggled  very  cautiously, 
with  due  respect  to  Aunt  Lois's  sharp  observation. 

At  first,  there  was  only  a  mild,  quiet  simmering  of 
giggle,  compressed  decorously  within  the  bounds  of 
propriety ;  and  we  pursed  our  muscles  up  with  strin 
gent  resolution,  whenever  we  caught  the  apprehen. 
sive  eye  of  our  elders. 

But  when,  directly  after  the  closing  notes  of  the 


LAUQHIN'   IN  MEETIN'.  203 

tolling  second  bell,  Master  Trip  walked  gravely  up 
the  front  aisle,  and,  seating  himself  squarely  in  front 
of  the  pulpit,  raised  his  nose  with  a  critical  air  to 
ward  the  scene  of  the  forthcoming  performance,  it 
was  too  much  for  us :  the  repression  was  almost  con 
vulsive.  Trip  wore  an  alert,  attentive  air,  befitting 
a  sound,  orthodox  dog,  who  smells  a  possible  heresy, 
and  deems  it  his  duty  to  watch  the  performances 
narrowly. 

Evidently  he  felt  called  upon  to  see  who  and  what 
were  to  occupy  that  pulpit  in  his  master's  absence. 

Up  rose  Parson  Summeral ;  and  up  went  Trip's 
nose,  vibrating  with  intense  attention. 

The  parson  began  in  his  high-cracked  voice  to  in 
tone  the  hymn,  — 

"  Sing  to  the  Lord  aloud," 

when  Trip  broke  into  a  dismal  howl. 

The  parson  went  on  to  give  directions  to  the  dea 
con,  in  the  same  voice  in  which  he  had  been  reading, 
so  that  the  whole  effect  of  the  performance  was  some 
what  as  follows :  — 

"  '  Sing  to  the  Lord  aloud.' 


204  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  (Please  to  turn  out  that  dog),  — 

"  < And  make  a  joyful  noise.' » 

The  dog  was  turned  out,  and  the  choir  did  their 
best  to  make  a  joyful  noise  ;  but  we  boys  were  upset 
for  the  day,  delivered  over  to  the  temptations  of 
Satan,  and  plunged  in  waves  and  billows  of  hysteri 
cal  giggle,  from  which  neither  winks  nor  frowns  from 
Aunt  Lois,  nor  the  awful  fear  of  the  ti thing-man, 
nor  the  comforting  bits  of  fennel  and  orange-peel 
passed  us  by  grandmother,  could  recover  us. 

Everybody  felt,  to  be  sure,  that  here  was  a  trial 
that  called  for  some  indulgence.  Hard  faces,  even 
among  the  stoniest  saints,  betrayed  a  transient  quiver 
of  the  risible  muscles  ;  old  ladies  put  up  their  fans  ; 
youths  and  maidens  in  the  singers'  seat  laughed  out 
right  ;  and,  for  the  moment,  a  general  snicker  among 
the  children  was  pardoned.  But  I  was  one  of  that 
luckless  kind,  whose  nerves,  once  set  in  vibration, 
could  not  be  composed.  When  the  reign  of  gravity 
and  decorum  had  returned,  Harry  and  I  sat  by  each 
other,  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter.  Every 
thing  in  the  subsequent  exercises  took  a  funny  turn ; 


LAUGHIN'    IN    MEETIN'.  205 

and  in  the  long  prayer,  when  everybody  else  was  still 
and  decorous,  the  whole  scene  came  over  me  with 
such  overpowering  force,  that  I  exploded  with  laugh 
ter,  and  had  to  be  taken  out  of  meeting  and  marched 
nome  by  Aunt  Lois,  as  a  convicted  criminal.  What 
especially  moved  her  indignation  was,  that,  the  more 
she  rebuked  and  upbraided,  the  more  I  laughed,  till 
the  tears  rolled  down  my  cheeks ;  which  Aunt  Lois 
construed  into  wilful  disrespect  to  her  authority,  and 
resented  accordingly. 

By  Sunday  evening,  as  we  gathered  around  the 
fire,  the  re-action  from  undue  gayety  to  sobriety  had 
taken  place ;  and  we  were  in  a  pensive  and  penitent 
state.  Grandmother  was  gracious  and  forgiving ;  but 
Aunt  Lois  still  preserved  that  frosty  air  of  reproba 
tion  which  she  held  to  be  a  salutary  means  of  quick 
ening  our  consciences  for  the  future.  It  was,  there 
fore,  with  unusual  delight  that  we  saw  our  old  friend 
Sam  come  in,  and  sit  himself  quietly  down  on  the 
block  in  the  chimney  corner.  With  Sam  we  felt  as 
sured  of  indulgence  and  patronage  ;  for,  though  al 
ways  rigidly  moral  and  instructive  in  his  turn  of  mind, 
he  had  that  fellow-feeling  for  transgressors  which  is 

18 


206  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

characteristic  of  the  loose-jointed,  easy-going  style  of 
his  individuality. 

"Lordy  massy,  boys  —  yis,"  said  Sam  virtuously, 
in  view  of  some  of  Aunt  Lois's  thrusts,  "ye  ought 
never  to  laugh  nor  cut  up  in  meetin' ;  that  'are's  so  : 
but  then  there  is  times  when  the  best  on  us  gets  took 
down.  We  gets  took  unawares,  ye  see,  —  even  min 
isters  does.  Yis,  natur'  will  git  the  upper  hand  afore 
they  know  it." 

"  Why,  Sam,  ministers  don't  ever  laugh  in  meetin' ! 
do  they?" 

We  put  the  question  with  wide  eyes.  Such  a  sup 
position  bordered  on  profanity,  we  thought :  it  was 
approaching  the  sin  of  Uzzah,  who  unwarily  touched 
the  ark  of  the  Lord. 

"  Laws,  yes.  Why,  heven't  you  never  heard  how 
there  was  a  council  held  to  try  Parson  Morrel  for 
laughin'  out  in  prayer-time  ?  " 

"  Laughing  in  prayer-time  !  "  we  both  repeated, 
with  uplifted  hands  and  eyes. 

My  grandfather's  mild  face  became  luminous  with 
a  suppressed  smile,  which  brightened  it  as  the  moon 
does  a  cloud ;  but  he  said  nothing. 


LAUGHIN'   IN  MEETIN'.  20T 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  that  affair  did 
make  a  dreadful  scandal  in  the  time  on't !  But  Par 
son  Morrel  was  a  good  man  ;  and  I'm  glad  the  coun 
cil  wasn't  hard  on  him." 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam  Lawson,  "  after  all,  it  was  more 
Ike  Babbit's  fault  than  'twas  anybody's.  Ye  see,  Ike 
he  was  allers  for  gettin'  what  he  could  out  o'  the 
town ;  and  he  would  feed  his  sheep  on  the  meetin'- 
house  green.  Somehow  or  other,  Ike's  fences  allers 
contrived  to  give  out,  come  Sunday,  and  up  would 
come  his  sheep ;  and  Ike  was  too  pious  to  drive  'em 
back  Sunday,  and  so  there  they  was.  He  was  talked 
to  enough  about  it :  'cause,  ye  see,  to  hev  sheep  and 
lambs  a  ba-a-in'  and  a  blatin'  all  prayer  and  sermon 
time  wa'n't  the  thing.  'Member  that  'are  old  meet- 
in'-house  up  to  the  North  End,  down  under  Blueberry 
Hill,  the  land  sort  o'  sloped  down,  so  as  a  body  hed 
to  come  into  the  meetin '-house  steppin'  down  instead 
o'  up. 

"  Fact  was,  they  said  'twas  put  there  'cause  the 
land  wa'n't  good  for  nothin'  else;  and  the  folks 
thought  puttin'  a  meetin'-house  on't  would  be  a  clear 
savin'.  But  Parson  Morrel  he  didn't  like  it,  and 


208  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

was  free  to  tell  'em  his  mind  on't,  —  that  'twas  like 
bringin'  the  lame  and  the  blind  to  the  Lord's  sarvice ; 
but  there  'twas. 

"  There  wa'n't  a  better  minister,  nor  no  one  more 
set  by  in  all  the  State,  than  Parson  Morrel.  His  doc 
trines  was  right  up  and  down,  good  and  sharp  ;  and 
he  give  saints  and  sinners  their  meat  in  due  season  ; 
and  for  consolin'  and  comfortin'  widders  and  orphans, 
Parson  Morrel  hedn't  his  match.  The  women  sot 
lots  by  him ;  and  he  was  allus'  ready  to  take  tea  round, 
and  make  things  pleasant  and  comfortable  ;  and  he 
hed  a  good  story  for  every  one,  and  a  word  for  the 
children,  and  maybe  an  apple  or  a  cookey  in  his 
pocket  for  'em.  Wai,  you  know  there  an't  no  pleas- 
in'  everybody ;  and  ef  Gabriel  himself,  right  down  out 
jo'  heaven,  was  to  come  and  be  a  minister,  I  expect 
there'd  be  a  pickin'  at  his  wings,  and  sort  o'fault- 
findin'.  Now,  Aunt  Jerushy  Scran  and  Aunt  Polly 
Hokun  they  sed  Parson  Morrel  wa'n't  solemn 
enough.  Ye  see,  there's  them  that  thinks  that  a  min 
ister  ought  to  be  jest  like  the  town  hearse,  so  that  ye 
think  of  death,  judgment,  and  eternity,  and  nothiri' 
else,  when  ye  see  him  round ;  and  ef  they  see  a  man 


LAUGHIN*  IN  MEETIN'.  209 

rosy  and  chipper,  and  hevin'  a  pretty  nice,  sociable 
sort  of  a  time,  why  they  say  he  an't  spiritooal  minded. 
But,  in  my  times,  I've  seen  ministers  the  most 
awakenin'  kind  in  the  pulpit  that  was  the  liveliest 
when  they  was  out  on't.  There  is  a  time  to  laugh; 
Scriptur'  says ;  tho'  some  folks  never  seem  to  re 
member  that  'are." 

"  But,  Sam,  how  came  you  to  say  it  was  Ike  Bab 
bit's  fault  ?  What  was  it  about  the  sheep  ?  " 

"  Oh,  wal,  yis !  I'm  a  comin'  to  that  'are.  It  was 
all  about  them  sheep.  I  expect  they  was  the  instru 
ment  the  Devil  sot  to  work  to  tempt  Parson  Morrel 
to  laugh  in  prayer-time. 

"  Ye  see,  there  was  old  Dick,  Ike's  bell-wether,  was 
the  fightin'est  old  crittur  that  ever  yer  see.  Why , 
Dick  would  butt  at  his  own  shadder ;  and  everybody 
said  it  was  a  shame  the  old  crittur  should  be  left  to 
run  loose,  'cause  he  run  at  the  children,  and  scared 
the  women  half  out  their  wits.  Wal,  I  used  to  live 
out  in  that  parish  in  them  days.  And  Lem  Sudoc  and 
I  used  to  go  out  sparkin'  Sunday  nights,  to  see  the 
Larkin  gals ;  and  we  had  to  go  right  'cross  the  lot 
where  Dick  was :  so  we  used  to  go  and  stand  at  the 

18* 


210  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

fence,  and  call.  And  Dick  would  see  us,  and  put 
down  his  head,  and  run  at  us  full  chisel,  and  come  bunt 
agin  the  fence  ;  and  then  I'd  ketch  him  by  the  horns, 
and  hold  him  while  Lem  run  and  got  over  the  fence 
t'other  side  the  lot ;  and  then  I'd  let  go  :  and  Lem 
would  holler,  and  shake  a  stick  at  him,  and  away  he'd 
go  full  butt  at  Lem ;  and  Lem  would  ketch  his  horns, 
and  hold  him  till  I  came  over,  —  that  was  the  way  we 
managed  Dick ;  but,  I  tell  you,  ef  he  come  sudden 
up  behind  a  fellow,  he'd  give  him  a  butt  in  the  small 
of  his  back  that  would  make  him  run  on  all  fours  one 
while.  He  was  a  great  rogue,  —  Dick  was.  Wai,  that 
summer,  I  remember  they  hed  old  Deacon  Titkins  for 
tithing-man ;  and  I  tell  you  he  give  it  to  the  boys 
Lively.  There  wa'n't  no  sleepin'  nor  no  playin' ;  for 
the  deacon  hed  eyes  like  a  gimblet,  and  he  was  quick 
as  a  cat,  and  the  youngsters  hed  to  look  out  for  them 
selves.  It  did  really  seem  as  if  the  deacon  was  like 
them  four  beasts  in  the  Revelations  that  was  full  o' 
eyes  behind  and  before ;  for  which  ever  way  he  was 
standin',  if  you  gave  only  a  wink,  he  was  down  on 
you,  and  hit  you  a  tap  with  his  stick.  I  know  once 
Lem  Sudoc  jist  wrote  two  words  in  the  psalm-book 


LAUGHIN'   IN  MEETIN'.  211 

and  passed  to  Kesiah  Larkin ;  and  the  deacon  give 
him  such  a  tap  that  Lem  grew  red  as  a  beet,  and 
vowed  he'd  be  up  with  him  some  day  for  that. 

"  Well,  Lordy  Massy,  folks  that  is  so  chipper  and 
high  steppin'  has  to  hev  their  come  downs ;  and  the 
deacon  he  hed  to  hev  his. 

"  That  'are  Sunday,  — I  'member  it  now  jest  as  well 
as  if  'twas  yesterday,  —  the  parson  he  give  us  his  gre't 
sermon,  reconcilin'  decrees  and  free  agency :  everybody 
said  that  'are  sermon  was  a  masterpiece.  He  preached 
it  up  to  Cambridge  at  Commencement,  that  year. 
Wai,  it  so  happened  it  was  one  o'  them  bilin'  hot  days 
that  come  in  August,  when  you  can  fairly  hear  the 
huckleberries  a  sizzlin'  and  cookin'  on  the  bushes, 
and  the  locust  keeps  a  gratin'  like  a  red-hot  saw. 
Wai,  such  times,  decrees  or  no  decrees,  the  best  on 
us  will  get  sleepy.  The  old  meetin'-house  stood 
right  down  at  the  foot  of  a  hill  that  kep'  off  all  the 
wind ;  and  the  sun  blazed  away  at  them  gre't  west 
winders:  and  there  was  pretty  sleepy  times  there. 
Wai,  the  deacon  he  flew  round  a  spell,  and  woke  up 
the  children,  and  tapped  the  boys  on  the  head,  and 
kep'  every  thing  straight  as  he  could,  till  the  sermon 


212  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

was  most  through,  when  he  railly  got  most  tuckered 
out ;  and  he  took  a  chair,  and  he  sot  down  in  the  door 
right  opposite  the  minister,  and  fairly  got  asleep  him  • 
self,  jest  as  the  minister  got  up  to  make  the  last 
prayer. 

"  Wai,  Parson  Morrel  hed  a  way  o'  prayin'  with 
his  eyes  open.  Folks  said  it  wa'n't  the  best  way  :  but 
it  was  Parson  Morrel's  way,  anyhow  ;  and  so,  as  he 
was  prayin',  he  couldn't  help  seein'  that  Deacon  Tit- 
kins  was  a  noddin'  and  a  bobbin'  out  toward  the 
place  where  old  Dick  was  feedin'  with  the  sheep, 
front  o'  the  meetin'-house  door. 

"  Lem  and  me  we  was  sittin'  where  we  could  look 
out ;  and  we  jest  sees  old  Dick  stop  feedin'  and  look 
at  the  deacon.  The  deacon  hed  a  little  round  head 
as  smooth  as  an  apple,  with  a  nice  powdered  wig  on 
it :  and  he  sot  there  makin'  bobs  and  bows  ;  and  Dick 
begun  to  think  it  was  suthin  sort  o'  pussonal.  Lem 
and  me  was  sittin'  jest  where  we  could  look  out  and 
see  the  hull  picter ;  and  Lem  was  fit  to  split. 

44 '  Good,  now,'  says  he :  '  that  crittur'll  pay  the 
deacon  off  lively,  pretty  soon.' 

"  The  deacon  bobbed  his  head  a  spell ;  and  old  Dick 


"And  knocked  him  head  over  heets  into  the  broad  aisled 


LAUGHIN'  IN  MEETIN'.  213 

he  shook  his-  horns,  and  stamped  at  him  sort  o'  threat- 
nin'.  Finally  the  deacon  he  give  a  great  bow,  and 
brought  his  head  right  down  at  him ;  and  old  Dick  he 
sot  out  full  tilt  and  come  down  on  him  ker  chunk, 
and  knocked  him  head  over  heels  into  the  broad  aisle : 
and  his  wig  flew  one  way  and  he  t'other ;  and  Dick 
made  a  lunge  at  it,  as  it  flew,  and  carried  it  off  on  his 
horns. 

"  Wai,  you  may  believe,  that  broke  up  the  meetin' 
for  one  while :  for  Parson  Morrel  laughed  out ;  and 
all  the  gals  and  boys  they  stomped  and  roared.  And 
the  old  deacon  he  got  up  and  begun  rubbin'  his  shins, 
'cause  he  didn't  see  the  joke  on't. 

"  '  You  don't  orter  laugh,'  says  he  :  '  it's  no  laugh- 
in'  matter;  it's  a  solemn  thing,'  says  he.  4I  might 
hev  been  sent  into  'tarnity  by  that  darned  crittur,' 
says  he.  Then  they  all  roared  and  haw-hawed  the 
more,  to  see  the  deacon  dancin'  round  with  his  little 
shiny  head,  so  smooth  a  fly  would  trip  up  on't.  1 1 
believe,  my  soul,  you'd  laugh  to  see  me  in  my  grave,' 
says  he. 

"  Wai,  the  truth  on't  was,  'twas  jist  one  of  them 
bustin'  up  times  that  natur  has,  when  there  an't 


214  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

nothin'  for  it  but  to  give  in :  'twas  jest  like  the  ice 
breakin'  up  in  the  Charles  River,  —  it  all  come  at 
once,  and  no  whoa  to  't.  Sunday  or  no  Sunday,  sin 
or  no  sin,  the  most  on  'em  laughed  till  they  cried,  and 
couldn't  help  it. 

u  But  the  deacon,  he  went  home  feelin'  pretty  sore 
about  it.  Lem  Sudoc,  he  picked  up  his  wig,  and 
handed  it  to  him.  Says  he,  *  Old  Dick  was  playin' 
tithin'-man,  wa'n't  he,  deacon  ?  Teach  you  to  make 
allowance  for  other  folks  that  get  sleepy.' 

"  Then  Miss  Titkins  she  went  over  to  Aunt 
Jerushy  Scran's  and  Aunt  Polly  Hokum's ;  and  they 
bed  a  pot  o'  tea  over  it,  and  'greed  it  was  awful  of 
Parson  Morrel  to  set  sich  an  example,  and  suthin' 
bed  got  to  be  done  about  it.  Miss  Hokum  said  she 
allers  knew  that  Parson  Morrel  hedn't  no  spiritooali- 
ty  ;  and  now  it  bed  broke  out  into  open  sin,  and  led 
all  the  rest  of  'em  into  it ;  and  Miss  Titkins,  she  said 
such  a  man  wa'n't  fit  to  preach ;  and  Miss  Hokum 
said  she  couldn't  never  hear  him  agin :  and  the  next 
Sunday  the  deacon  and  his  wife  they  hitched  up  and 
driv  eight  miles  over  to  Parson  Lothrop's  and  took 
Aunt  Polly  on  the  back  seat. 


LAUGHIN'   IN  MEETIN'.  215 

"  Wai,  the  thing  growed  and  growed,  till  it  seemed 
as  if  there  wa'n't  nothin'  else  talked  about,  'cause 
Aunt  Polly  and  Miss  Titkins  and  Jerushy  Scran  they 
didn't  do  nothin'  but  talk  about  it;  and  that  sot 
everybody  else  a-talkin'. 

"  Finally,  it  was  'greed  they  must  hev  a  council  to 
settle  the  hash.  So  all  the  wimmen  they  went  to 
choppin'  mince,  and  makin'  up  pumpkin  pies  and 
cranberry  tarts,  andb'ilin'  doughnuts,  —  gettin'  ready 
for  the  ministers  and  delegates  ;  'cause  councils  al 
ways  eats  powerful :  and  they  hed  quite  a  stir,  like 
a  gineral  trainin'.  The  bosses  they  was  hitched  all 
up  and  down  the  stalls,  a-stompin'  and  switchin'  their 
tails  ;  and  all  the  wimmen  was  a-talkin' ;  and  they  hed 
up  everybody  round  for  witnesses.  And  finally  Parson 
Morrel  he  says,  '  Brethren,'  says  he,  '  jest  let  me 
tell  you  the  story  jest  as  it  happened ;  and,  if  you  don't 
every  one  of  you  laugh  as  hard  as  I  did,  why,  then, 
I'll  give  up.' 

"  The  parson  he  was  a  master-hand  at  settin'  off  a 
story  ;  and,  afore  he'd  done,  he  got  'em  all  in  sich  a 
roar  they  didn't  know  where  to  leave  off.  Finally, 
they  give  sentence  that  there  hedn't  no  temptation 


216  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

took  him  but  such  as  is  common  to  man ;  but  they 
advised  him  afterwards  allers  to  pray  with  his  eyes 
shet ;  and  the  parson  he  confessed  he  orter  'a  done  it, 
and  meant  to  do  better  in  future :  and  so  they  settled 
it. 

"  So,  boys,"  said  Sam,  who  always  drew  a  moral, 
"  ye  see,  it  larns  you,  you  must  take  care  what  ye  look 
at,  ef  ye  want  to  keep  from  laughin'  in  meetin'.  ^ 


TOM  TOOTHACRE'S  GHOST  STORY. 


HAT  is  it  about  that  old  house  in 
Sherbourne?"  said  Aunt  Nabby  to 
Sam  Lawson,  as  he  sat  drooping 
over  the  coals  of  a  great  fire  one 
October  evening. 

Aunt  Lois  was  gone  to  Boston 
on  a  visit ;  and,  the  smart  spice  of 
her  scepticism  being  absent,  we  felt  the  more  free 
dom  to  start  our  story-teller  on  one  of  his  legends. 

Aunt  Nabby  sat  trotting  her  knitting-needles  on 
a  blue-mixed  yarn  stocking.  Grandmamma  was 
knitting  in  unison  at  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 
Grandfather  sat  studying  "  The  Boston  Courier." 
The  wind  outside  was  sighing  in  fitful  wails,  creak 
ing  the  pantry-doors,  occasionally  puffing  in  a 

217 


218  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

vicious  gust  down  the  broad  throat  of  the  chim 
ney.  It  was  a  drizzly,  sleety  evening ;  and  the  wet 
lilac-bushes  now  and  then  rattled  and  splashed 
against  the  window  as  the  wind  moaned  and  whis 
pered  through  them. 

We  boys  had  made  preparation  for  a  comfortable 
evening.  We  had  enticed  Sam  to  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  drawn  him  a  mug  of  cider.  We  had 
set  down  a  row  of  apples  to  roast  on  the  hearth, 
which  even  now  were  giving  faint  sighs  and  sput 
ters  as  their  plump  sides  burst  in  the  genial  heat. 
The  big  oak  back-log  simmered  and  bubbled,  and 
distilled  large  drops  down  amid  the  ashes ;  and 
the  great  hickory  forestick  had  just  burned  out 
into  solid  bright  coals,  faintly  skimmed  over  with 
white  ashes.  The  whole  area  of  the  big  chimney 
was  full  of  a  sleepy  warmth  and  brightness  just 
calculated  to  call  forth  fancies  and  visions.  It  only 
wanted  somebody  now  to  set  Sam  off;  and  Aunt 
Nabby  broached  the  ever-interesting  subject  of 
haunted  houses. 

k'  Wai,  now,  Miss  Badger,"  said  Sam,  "  I  ben 
over  there,  and  walked  round  that  are  house  con- 


TOM  TOOTHACHE'S  GHOST  STOKY.          219 

sid'able;  and  I  talked  with  Granny  Hokum  and 
Aunt  Polly,  and  they've  putty  much  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  they'll  hev  to  move  out  on't.  Ye 
see  these  'ere  noises,  they  keep  'em  awake  nights; 
and  Aunt  Polly,  she  gets  'stericky ;  and  Hannah 
Jane,  she  says,  ef  they  stay  in  the  house,  she  can't 
live  with  'em  no  longer.  And  what  can  them  lone 
women  do  without  Hannah  Jane?  Why,  Hannah 
Jane,  she  says  these  two  months  past  she's  seen  a 
woman,  regular,  walking  up  and  down  the  front 
hall  between  twelve  and  one  o'clock  at  night ;  and 
it's  jist  the  image  and  body  of  old  Ma'am  Tillotson, 
Parson  Hokum's  mother,  that  everybody  know'd 
was  a  thunderin'  kind  o'  woman,  that  kep'  every 
thing  in  a  muss  while  she  was  alive.  What  the 
old  crittur's  up  to  now  there  ain't  no  knowin'. 
Some  folks  seems  to  think  it's  a  sign  Granny  Ho 
kum's  time's  comin'.  But  Lordy  massy !  says  she 
to  me,  says  she,  4  Why,  Sam,  I  don't  know  nothin' 
what  I've  done,  that  Ma'am  Tillotson  should  be 
set  loose  on  me.'  Anyway  they've  all  got  so  narvy, 
that  Jed  Hokum  has  ben  up  from  Needham,  and  is 
goin'  to  cart  'em  all  over  to  live  with  him.  Jed, 


220  OLDTOWN   FIEESIDE   STORIES. 

he's  for  hushin'  on't  up,  'cause  he  says  it  brings  a 
bad  name  on  the  property. 

44  Wai,  I  talked  with  Jed  about  it ;  and  says  I 
to  Jed,  says  I,  4  Now,  ef  you'll  take  my  advice,  jist 
you  give  that  are  old  house  a  regular  overhauling 
and  paint  it  over  with  tew  coats  o'  paint,  and  that 
are'll  clear  'em  out,  if  any  thing  will.  Ghosts  is  like 
bedbugs,  —  they  can't  stan'  fresh  paint,'  says  I. 
4  They  allers  clear  out.  I've  seen  it  tried  on  a 
ship  that  got  haunted.'  " 

"  Why,  Sam,  do  ships  get  haunted  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  they  do  !  —  haunted  the  wust  kind. 
Why,  I  could  tell  ye  a  story'd  make  your  har  rise 
on  e'end,  only  I'm  'fraid  of  frightening  boys  when 
they're  jist  going  to  bed." 

"  Oh !  you  can't  frighten  Horace,"  said  my  grand 
mother.  "He  will  go  and  sit  out  there  in  the 
graveyard  till  nine  o'clock  nights,  spite  of  all  I 
tell  him." 

44  Do  tell,  Sam ! "  we  urged.  44  What  was  it  about 
the  ship  ?  " 

Sam  lifted  his  mug  of  cider,  deliberately  turned 
it  round  and  round  in  his  hands,  eyed  it  affec- 


TOM  TOOTHACBB'S  GHOST  STORY.          221 

tionately,  took  a  long  drink,  and  set  it  down  in 
front  of  him  on  the  hearth,  and  began :  — 

uYe  'member  I  telled  you  how  I  went  to  sea 
down  East,  when  I  was  a  boy,  'long  with  Tom 
Toothacre.  Wai,  Tom,  he  reeled  off  a  yarn  one 
night  that  was  'bout  the  toughest  I  ever  hed  the 
pullin'  on.  And  it  come  all  straight,  too,  from  Tom. 
'Twa'n't  none  o'  yer  hearsay:  'twas  what  he  seen 
with  his  own  eyes.  Now,  there  wa'n't  no  nonsense 
'bout  Tom,  not  a  bit  on't ;  and  he  wa'n't  afeard  o' 
the  divil  himse'f ;  and  he  ginally  saw  through  things 
about  as  straight  as  things  could  be  seen  through. 
This  'ere  happened  when  Tom  was  mate  o'  '  The 
Albatross,'  and  they  was  a-runnin'  up  to  the  Banks 
for  a  fare  o'  fish.  4  The  Albatross '  was  as  hand 
some  a  craft  as  ever  ye  see ;  and  Cap'n  Sim  Wither- 
spoon,  he  was  skipper  —  a  rail  nice  likely  man  he 
was.  I  heard  Tom  tell  this  'ere  one  night  to  the 
boys  on  '  The  Brilliant/  when  they  was  all  a-settin' 
round  the  stove  in  the  cabin  one  foggy  night  that 
we  was  to  anchor  in  Frenchman's  Bay,  and  all  kind 
o'  layin'  off  loose. 

•'  Tom,  he  said  they  was  having  a  famous  run  up 


222  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

to  the  Banks.  There  was  a  spankin'  southerly,  that 
blew  'em  along  like  all  natur  ;  and  they  was  hevin' 
the  best  kind  of  a  time,  when  this  'ere  southerly 
brought  a  pesky  fog  down  on  'em,  and  it  grew 
thicker  than  hasty-puddin'.  Ye  see,  that  are's  the 
pester  o'  these  'ere  southerlies :  they's  the  biggest 
fog-breeders  there  is  goin'.  And  so,  putty  soon,  you 
couldn't  see  half  ship's  length  afore  you. 

"  Wai,  they  all  was  down  to  supper,  except  Dan 
Sawyer  at  the  wheel,  when  there  come  sich  a  crash 
as  if  heaven  and  earth  was  a-splittin',  and  then  a 
scrapin'  and  thump  bumpin'  under  the  ship,  and  gin 
'em  sich  a  h'ist  that  the  pot  o'  beans  went  rollin', 
and  brought  up  jam  ag'in  the  bulk-head;  and  the 
fellers  was  keeled  over,  —  men  and  pork  and  beans 
kinder  permiscus. 

" c  The  divil ! '  says  Tom  Toothacre,  4  we've  run 
down  somebody.  Look  out,  up  there  ! ' 

"Dan,  he  shoved  the  helm  hard  down,  and  put 
her  up  to  the  wind,  and  sung  out,  4  Lordy  massy ! 
we've  struck  her  right  amidships ! ' 

" '  Struck  what  ? '  they  all  yelled,  and  tumbled  up 
on  deck. 


TOM  TOOTHACHE'S  GHOST  STORY.          223 

" c  Why,  a  little  schooner,'  says  Dan.  '  Didn't  see 
her  till  we  was  right  on  her.  She's  gone  down 
tack  and  sheet.  Look!  there's  part  o'  the  wreck 
a-floating  off:  don't  ye  see?' 

"Wai,  they  didn't  see,  'cause  it  was  so  thick 
you  couldn't  hardly  see  your  hand  afore  your  face. 
But  they  put  about,  and  sent  out  a  boat,  and  kind 
o'  sarched  round ;  but,  Lordy  massy !  ye  might  as 
well  looked  for  a  drop  of  water  in  the  Atlantic 
Ocean.  Whoever  they  was,  it  was  all  done  gone 
and  over  with  'em  for  this  life,  poor  critturs! 

"  Tom  says  they  felt  confoundedly  about  it ;  but 
what  could  they  do  ?  Lordy  massy  !  what  can  any 
on  us  do?  There's  places  where  folks  jest  lets  go 
'cause  they  hes  to.  Things  ain't  as  they  want  'em, 
and  they  can't  alter  'em.  Sailors  ain't  so  rough  as 
they  look :  they'z  feelin'  critturs,  come  to  put  things 
right  to  ''em.  And  there  wasn't  one  on  'em  who 
wouldn't  'a'  worked  all  night  for  a  chance  o'  saving 
some  o'  them  poor  fellows.  But  there  'twas,  and 
'twa'n't  no  use  trying. 

"  Wai,  so  they  sailed  on  ;  and  by  'm  by  the  wind 
kind  o'  chopped  round  no'theast,  and  then  come 


224  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

round  east,  and  sot  in  for  one  of  them  regular  east 
blows  and  drizzles  that  takes  the  starch  out  o' 
fellers  more'n  a  regular  storm.  So  they  concluded 
they  might  as  well  put  into  a  little  bay  there,  and 
come  to  anchor. 

"  So  they  sot  an  anchor-watch,  and  all  turned  in. 

"Wai,  now  comes  the  particular  curus  part  o' 
Tom's  story ;  and  it  was  more  curus  'cause  Tom  was 
one  that  wouldn't  'a'  believed  no  other  man  that 
had  told  it.  Tom  was  one  o'  your  sort  of  philoso 
phers.  He  was  fer  lookin'  into  things,  and  wa'n't 
in  no  hurry  'bout  believin' ;  so  that  this  'un  was 
more  'markable  on  account  of  it's  bein'  Tom  that 
seen  it  than  ef  it  had  ben  others. 

"  Tom  says  that  night  he  hed  a  pesky  toothache 
that  sort  o'  kep'  grumblin'  and  jumpin'  so  he 
couldn't  go  to  sleep ;  and  he  lay  in  his  bunk, 
a-turnin'  this  way  and  that,  till  long  past  twelve 
o  clock. 

"Tom  had  a  'thwart-ship  bunk  where  he  could 
see  into  every  bunk  on  board,  except  Bob  Coffin's ; 
and  Bob  was  on  the  anchor-watch.  Wai,  he  lay 
there,  tryin'  to  go  to  sleep,  hearin'  the  men  snorin' 


TOM  TOOTHACHE'S  GHOST  STORY.          225 

like  bull-frogs  in  a  swamp,  and  watchin'  the  lantern 
a-swingin'  back  and  forward ;  and  the  sou'westers 
and  pea-jackets  were  kinder  throwin'  their  long 
shadders  up  and  down  as  the  vessel  sort  o'  rolled 
and  pitched,  —  for  there  was  a  heavy  swell  on, — 
and  then  he'd  hear  Bob  Coffin  tramp,  tramp, 
trampin'  overhead,  —  for  Bob  had  a  pretty  heavy 
foot  of  his  own,  —  and  all  sort  o'  mixed  up  to 
gether  with  Tom's  toothache,  so  he  couldn't  get  to 
sleep.  Finally,  Tom,  he  bit  off  a  great  chaw  o' 
'baccy,  and  got  it  well  sot  in  his  cheek,  and  kind  o' 
turned  over  to  lie  on't,  and  ease  the  pain.  Wai, 
he  says  he  laid  a  spell,  and  dropped  off  in  a  sort  o' 
doze,  when  he  woke  in  sich  a  chill  his  teeth  chat 
tered,  and  the  pain  come  on  like  a  "knife,  and  he 
bounced  over,  thinking  the  fire  had  gone  out  in  the 
stove. 

"Wai,  sure  enough,  he  see  a  man  a-crouchin' 
over  the  stove,  with  his  back  to  him,  a-stretchin' 
out  his  hands  to  warm  'em.  He  had  on  a  sou' 
wester  and  a  pea-jacket,  with  a  red  tippet  round  his 
neck;  and  his  clothes  was  drippin'  as  if  he'd  just 
come  in  from  a  rain. 


226  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"'What  the  divil!'  says  Tom.  And  he  riz  right 
up,  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  'Bill  Bridges,'  says  he, 
'what  shine  be  you  up  to  now?'  For  Bill  was  a 
master  oneasy  crittur,  and  allers  a-gettin'  up  and 
walkin'  nights  ;  and  Tom,  he  thought  it  was  Bill. 
But  in  a  minute  he  looked  over,  and  there,  sure 
enough,  was  Bill,  fast  asleep  in  his  bunk,  mouth 
wide  open,  snoring  like  a  Jericho  ram's-horn.  Tom 
looked  round,  and  counted  every  man  in  his  bunk, 
and  then  says  he,  '  Who  the  devil  is  this  ?  for 
there's  Bob  Coffin  on  deck,  and  the  rest  is  all 
here.' 

"  Wai,  Tom  wa'n't  a  man  to  be  put  under  too 
easy.  He  hed  his  thoughts  about  him  allers;  and 
the  fust  he  thought  in  every  pinch  was  what  to  do. 
So  he  sot  considerin'  a  minute,  sort  o'  winkin'  his 
eyes  to  be  sure  he  saw  straight,  when,  sure  enough, 
there  come  another  man  backin'  down  the  compan 
ion-way. 

" '  Wai,  there's  Bob  Coffin,  anyhow,'  says  Tom 
to  himself.  But  no,  the  other  man,  he  turned: 
Tom  see  his  face ;  and,  sure  as  you  live,  it  was  the 
face  of  a  dead  corpse.  Its  eyes  was  sot,  and  it  jest 


TOM  TOOTHACRE'S  GHOST  STORY.          227 

came  as  still  across  the  cabin,  and  sot  down  by  the 
stove,  and  kind  o'  shivered,  and  put  out  its  hands 
as  if  it  was  gettiii'  warm. 

"  Tom  said  that  there  was  a  cold  air  round  in  the 
cabin,  as  if  an  iceberg  was  comin'  near,  and  he  felt 
cold  chills  running  down  his  back ;  but  he  jumped 
out  of  his  bunk,  and  took  a  step  forward.  '  Speak  ! ' 
says  he.  4  Who  be  you  ?  and  what  do  you  want  ? ' 

"They  never  spoke,  nor  looked  up,  but  kept 
kind  o'  shivering  and  crouching  over  the  stove. 

" 4  Wai,'  says  Tom,  '  I'll  see  who  you  be,  anyhow.' 
And  he  walked  right  up  to  the  last  man  that  come 
in,  and  reached  out  to  catch  hold  of  his  coat-collar ; 
but  his  hand  jest  went  through  him  like  moonshine, 
and  in  a  minute  he  all  faded  away;  and  when  he 
turned  round  the  other  one  was  gone  too.  Tom 
stood  there,  looking  this  way  and  that ;  but  there 
warn't  nothing  but  the  old  stove,  and  the  lantern 
swingin',  and  the  men  all  snorin'  round  in  their 
bunks.  Tom,  he  sung  out  to  Bob  Coffin.  '  Hullo, 
r.p  there ! '  says  he.  But  Bob  never  answered,  and 
Tom,  he  went  up,  and  found  Bob  down  on  his  knees, 
his  teeth  a-chatterin'  like  a  bag  o'  nails,  trying  to  say 


228  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

his  prayers;  and  all  he  could  thii>k  of  was,  'Now 
I  lay  me,'  and  he  kep'  going  that  over  and  over. 
Ye  see,  boys,  Bob  was  a  drefful  wicked,  swearin' 
crittur,  and  hadn't  said  no  prayers  since  he  was  tew 
years  old,  and  it  didn't  come  natural  to  him.  Tom 
give  a  grip  on  his  collar,  and  shook  him.  '  Hold 
yer  yawp,'  said  he.  'What  you  howlin'  about? 
What's  up  ? ' 

" 4  Oh,  Lordy  massy  ! '  says  Bob,  '  we're  sent  for, 
—  all  on  us,  —  there's  been  two  on  'em:  both  on 
'em  went  right  by  me  ! ' 

"  Wai,  Tom,  he  hed  his  own  thoughts ;  but  he 
was  bound  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  things,  anyway. 
Ef  'twas  the .  devil,  well  and  good  —  he  wanted  to 
1  know  it.  Tom  jest  wanted  to  hev  the  matter 
settled  one  way  or  t'other:  so  he  got  Bob  sort  o' 
stroked  down,  and  made  him  tell  what  he  saw. 

"  Bob,  he  stood  to  it  that  he  was  a-standin'  right 
for'ard,  a-leanin'  on  the  windlass,  and  kind  o' 
hummin'  a  tune,  when  he  looked  down,  and  see  a 
sort  o'  queer  light  in  the  fog;  and  he  went  and 
took  a  look  over  the  bows,  when  up  came  a  man's 
head  in  a  sort  of  sou'wester,  and  then  a  pair  of 


hands,  and  catched  at  the  bob-stay;  and  then  the 
hull  figger  of  a  man  riz  right  out  o'  the  water,  and 
clim  up  on  the  martingale  till  he  could  reach  the 
jib-stay  with  his  hands,  and  then  he  swung  himself 
right  up  onto  the  bowsprit,  and  stepped  aboard, 
and  went  past  Bob,  right  aft,  and  down  into  the 
cabin.  And  he  hadn't  more'ii  got  down,  afore  he 
turned  round,  and  there  was  another  comin'  in  over 
the  bowsprit,  and  he  went  by  him,  and  down  below : 
so  there  was  two  on  'em,  jest  as  Tom  had  seen  in 
the  cabin. 

"Tom  he  studied  on  it  a  spell,  and  finally  says 
he,  '  Bob,  let  you  and  me  keep  this  'ere  to  our 
selves,  and  see  ef  it'll  come  again.  .Ef  it  don't, 
well  and  good:  ef  it  does  —  why,  we'll  see  about 
it.' 

"But  Tom  he  told  Cap'n  Witherspoon,  and  the 
Cap'n  he  agreed  to  keep  an  eye  out  the  next 
night.  But  there  warn't  nothing  said  to  the  rest 
o'  the  men. 

"  Wai,  the  next  night  they  put  Bill  Bridges  on 
the  watch.  The  fog  had  lifted,  and  they  had  a 
fair  wind,  and  was  going  on  steady.  The  men 


230  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

all  turned  in,  and  went  fast  asleep,  except  Cap'n 
Witherspoon,  Tom,  and  Bob  Coffin.  Wai,  sure 
enough,  'twixt  twelve  and  one  o'clock,  the  same 
thing  came  over,  only  there  war  four  men  'stead  o' 
two.  They  come  in  jes'  so  over  the  bowsprit,  and 
they  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left,  but  clim  down 
stairs,  and  sot  down,  and  crouched  and  shivered 
over  the  stove  jist  like  the  others.  Wai,  Bill  Bridges, 
he  came  tearin'  down  like  a  wild-cat,  frightened 
half  out  o'  his  wits,  screechiu'  '  Lord,  have  mercy ! 
we're  all  goin'  to  the  devil ! '  And  then  they  all 
vanished. 

" '  Now,  Cap'n,  what's  to  be  done  ? '  says  Tom. 
4  Ef  these  'ere  fellows  is  to  take  passage,  we  can't 
do  nothin'  with  the  boys :  that's  clear.' 

"Wai,  so  it  turned  out;  for,  come  next  night, 
there  was  six  on  'em  come  in,  and  the  story  got 
round,  and  the  boys  was  all  on  eend.  There  wa'n't 
no  doin'  nothin'  with  'em.  Ye  see,  it's  allers  jest 
so.  Not  but  what  dead  folks  is  jest  as  'spectable 
as  they  was  afore  they's  dead.  These  might  'a'  been 
as  good  fellers  as  any  aboard ;  but  it's  human  natur'. 
The  minute  a  feller's  dead,  why,  you  sort  o'  don't 


TOM  TOOTHACHE'S  GHOST  STORY.          231 

know  'bout  him ;  and  it's  kind  o'  skeery  hevin'  on 
him  round ;  and  so  'twan't  no  wonder  the  boys  didn't 
feel  as  if  they  could  go  on  with  the  vy'ge,  ef  these 
'ere  fellers  was  all  to  take  passage.  Come  to  look, 
too,  there  war  consid'able  of  a  leak  stove  in  the 
vessel ;  and  the  boys,  they  all  stood  to  it,  ef  they  went 
farther,  that  they'd  all  go  to  the  bottom.  For,  ye 
see,  once  the  story  got  a-goin',  every  one  on  'em  saw 
a  new  thing  every  night.  One  on  'em  saw  the  bait- 
mill  a-grindin',  without  no  hands  to  grind  it;  and 
another  saw  fellers  up  aloft,  workin'  in  the  sails. 
Wai,  the  fact  war,  they  jest  had  to  put  about,  —  run 
back  to  Castine. 

"  Wai,  the  owners,  they  hushed  up  things  the  best 
they  could ;  and  they  put  the  vessel  on  the  stocks, 
and  worked  her  over,  and  put  a  new  coat  o'  paint 
on  her,  and  called  her  4  The  Betsey  Ann ; '  and  she 
went  a  good  vy'ge  to  the  Banks,  and  brought  home 
the  biggest  fare  o'  fish  that  had  been  for  a  long 
time  ;  and  she's  made  good  vy'ges  ever  since ;  and 
that  jest  proves  what  I've  been  a-saying,  —  that 
there's  no  thin'  to  drive  out  ghosts  like  fresh 
paint." 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE. 


AL,  now,  this  'ere  does  beat  all !  I 
wouldn't  'a'  thought  it  o'  the  dea 
con." 

So  spoke  Sam  Lawson,  drooping 
in  a  discouraged,  contemplative  atti 
tude  in  front  of  an  equally  discour 
aged  looking  horse,  that  had  just 
been  brought  to  him  by  the  Widow  Simpkins  for 
medical  treatment.  Among  Sam's  many  accom 
plishments  he  was  reckoned  in  the  neighborhood 
an  oracle  in  all  matters  of  this  kind,  especially  by 
women,  whose  helplessness  in  meeting  such  emer 
gencies  found  unfailing  solace  under  his  compassion 
ate  willingness  to  attend  to  any  business  that  did 
not  strictly  belong  to  him,  and  from  which  no  pecun 
iary  return  was  to  be  expected. 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE.  233 

The  Widow  Simpkins  had  bought  this  horse  of 
Deacon  Atkins,  apparently  a  fairly  well-appointed 
brute,  and  capable  as  he  was  good-looking.  A  short, 
easy  drive,  when  the  deacon  held  the  reins,  had 
shown  off  his  points  to  advantage ;  and  the  widow's 
small  stock  of  ready  savings  had  come  forth  freely 
in  payment  for  what  she  thought  was  a  bargain. 
When,  soon  after  coming  into  possession,  she  dis 
covered  that  her  horse,  if  driven  with  any  haste, 
panted  in  a  fearful  manner,  and  that  he  appeared  to 
be  growing  lame,  she  waxed  wro£h,  and  went  to  the 
deacon  in  anger,  to  be  met  only  with  the  smooth 
reminder  that  the  animal  was  all  right  when  she 
took  him ;  that  she  had  seen  him  tried  herself. 
The  widow  was  of  a  nature  somewhat  spicy,  and 
expressed  herself  warmly :  "  It's  a  cheat  and  a 
shame,  and  I'll  take  the  law  on  ye ! " 

"What  law  will  you  take?"  said  the  unmoved 
deacon.  "  Wasn't  it  a  fair  bargain  ?  " 

"  I'll  take  the  law  of  God,"  said  the  widow  with 
impotent  indignation ;  and  she  departed  to  pour  her 
cares  and  trials  into  the  ever  ready  ear  of  Sam. 
Having  assumed  the  care  of  the  animal,  he  now  sat 


234  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

contemplating  it  in  a  sort  of  trance  of  melancholy 
reflection. 

"  Why,  boys ! "  he  broke  out,  "  why  didn't  she 
come  to  me  afore  she  bought  this  crittur  ?  Why,  I 
knew  all  about  him !  That  'are  crittur  was  jest 
ruined  a  year  ago  last  summer,  when  Tom,  the 
deacon's  boy  there,  come  home  from  college.  Tom 
driv  him  over  to  Sherburn  and  back  that  'are  hot 
Fourth  of  July.  'Member  it,  'cause  I  saw  the 
crittur  when  he  come  home.  I  sot  up  with  Tom 
takin'  care  of  him  "all  night.  That  'are  crittur  had 
the  thumps  all  night,  and  he  hain't  never  been  good 
for  nothin'  since.  I  telled  the  deacon  he  was  a  gone 
hoss  then,  and  wouldn't  never  be  good  for  nothin'. 
The  deacon,  he  took  off  his  shoes,  and  let  him  run  to 
pastur'  all  summer,  and  he's  ben  a-feedin'  and  nussin' 
on  him  up  ;  and  now  he's  put  him  off  on  the  widder. 
I  wouldn't  'a'  thought  it  o'  the  deacon !  Why,  this 
hoss'll  never  be  no  good  to  her !  That  'are's  a  used- 
up  crittur,  any  fool  may  see !  He'll  mabbe  do  for 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  on  a  smooth  road ;  but 
come  to  drive  him  as  a  body  wants  to  drive,  why, 
he  blows  like  my  bellowsis ;  and  the  deacon  knew 
it —  must  'a'  known  it !  " 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE.  235 

"  Why,  Sam  !  "  we  exclaimed,  "  ain't  the  deacon  a 
good  man  ?  " 

"Wai,  now,  there's  where  the  shoe  pinches!  In 
a  gin'al  way  the  deacon  is  a  good  man  —  he's  con- 
sid'able  more  than  middlin'  good :  gin'ally  he  adorns 
his  perfession.  On  most  p'ints  I  don't  hev  no  thin' 
agin  the  deacon ;  and  this  'ere  ain't  a  bit  like  him. 
But  there  'tis !  Come  to  hosses,  there's  where  the 
unsanctified  natur'  comes  out.  Folks  will  cheat 
about  hosses  when  they  won't  about  'most  nothin' 
else."  And  Sam  leaned  back  on  his  cold  forge,  now 
empty  of  coal,  and  seemed  to  deliver  himself  to  a 
mournful  train  of  general  reflection.  "Yes,  hosses 
does  seem  to  be  sort  o'  unregenerate  critturs,"  he 
broke  out:  "there's  suthin'  about  hosses  that  de 
ceives  the  very  elect.  The  best  o'  folks  gets  tripped 
up  when  they  come  to  deal  in  hosses." 

"Why,  Sam,  is  there  any  thing  bad  in  horses?" 
we  interjected  timidly. 

"  'Tain't  the  hosses,  boys,"  said  Sam  with  solem 
nity.  "  Lordy  massy !  the  hosses  is  all  right  enough ! 
Hosses  is  scriptural  animals.  Elijah  went  up  to 
heaven  in  a  chari't  with  hosses;  and  then  all  them 


236  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

lots  o'  bosses  in  the  Ravelations,  —  black  and  white 
and  red,  and  all  sorts  o'  colors.  That  'are  shows 
bosses  goes  to  heaven ;  but  it's  more'n  the  folks  that 
hev  'em  is  likely  to,  ef  they  don't  look  out. 

"  Ministers,  now,"  continued  Sam  in  a  soliloquizing 
vein  —  "  folks  allers  thinks  it's  suthin'  sort  o'  shaky 
in  a  minister  to  hev  much  to  do  with  bosses,  —  sure 
to  get  'em  into  trouble.  There  was  old  Parson 
Williams  of  North  Billriky  got  into  a  drefful  mess 
about  a  boss.  Lordy  massy!  he  warn't  to  blame, 
neither;  but  he  got  into  the  dreffulest  scrape  you 
ever  heard  on  —  come  nigh  to  unsettlin'  him." 

"  O  Sam !  tell  us  all  about  it,"  we  boys  shouted, 
delighted  with  the  prospect  of  a  story. 

"  Wai,  wait  now  till  I  get  off  this  crittur's  shoes, 
and  we'll  take  him  up  to  pastur',  and  then  we  can 
kind  o'  set  by  the  river,  and  fish.  Hepsy  wanted  a 
mess  o'  fish  for  supper,  and  I  was  cal'latin'  to  git 
some  for  her.  You  boys  go  and  be  digging  bait,  and 
git  yer  lines." 

And  so,  as  we  were  sitting  tranquilly  beside  the 
Charles  River,  watching  our  lines,  Sam's  narrative 
began :  — 


237 

"  Ye  see,  boys,  Parson  Williams  —  he's  dead  now, 
but  when  I  was  a  boy  he  was  one  of  the  gret  men 
round  here.  He  writ  books.  He  writ  a  tract  agin 
the  Armenians,  and  put  'em  down ;  and  he  writ  a 
big  book  on  the  millennium  (I've  got  that  'are  book 
now)  ;  and  he  was  a  smart  preacher.  -  Folks  said  he 
had  invitations  to  settle  in  Boston,  and  there  ain't 
no  doubt  he  might  'a'  hed  a  Boston  parish  ef  he'd 
V  ben  a  mind  ter  take  it ;  but  he'd  got  a  good 
settlement  and  a  handsome  farm  in  North  Billriky, 
and  didn't  care  to  move  :  thought,  I  s'pose,  that 
'twas  better  to  be  number  one  in  a  little  place  than 
number  two  in  a  big  un.  Anyway,  he  carried  all 
before  him  where  he  was. 

"  Parson  Williams  was  a  tall,  straight,  personable 
man;  come  of  good  family  —  father  and  grand'ther 
before  him  all  ministers.  He  was  putty  up  and 
down,  and  commandin'  in  his  ways,  and  things  had 
to  go  putty  much  as  he  said.  He  was  a  good  deal 
sot  by,  Parson  Williams  was,  and  his  wife  was  a 
Derby,  —  one  o'  them  rich  Salem  Derbys,  —  and 
brought  him  a  lot  o'  money ;  and  so  they  lived  putty 
easy  and  comfortable  so  fur  as  this  world's  goods 


238  OLDTOWN   FIEESIDE   STOKIES. 

goes.  Well,  now,  the  parson  wan't  reely  what  you 
call  worldly-minded ;  but  then  he  was  one  o'  them 
folks  that  knows  what's  good  in  temporals  as  well  as 
sperituals,  and  allers  liked  to  hev  the  best  that  there 
was  goin' ;  and  he  allers  had  an  eye  to  a  good 
hoss. 

"Now,  there  was  Parson  Adams  and  Parson 
Scranton,  and  most  of  the  other  ministers:  they 
didn't  know  and  didn't  care  what  hoss  they  hed; 
jest  jogged  round  with  these  'ere  poundin',  pot 
bellied,  sleepy  critturs  that  ministers  mostly  hes,  — 
good  enough  to  crawl  round  to  funerals  and  minis 
ters'  meetih's  and  associations  and  sich ;  but  Parson 
Williams,  he  allers  would  hev  a  hoss  as  was  a  hoss. 
He  looked  out  for  blood ;  and,  when  these  'ere  Ver 
mont  fellers  would  come  down  with  a  drove,  the 
parson,  he  hed  his  eyes  open,  arid  knew  what  was 
what.  Couldn't  none  of  'em  cheat  him  on  hoss  flesh. 
And  so  one  time  when  Zach  Buel  was  down  with  a 
drove,  the  doctor,  he  bought  the  best  hoss  in  the  lot. 
Zach  said  he  never  see  a  parson  afore  that  he 
couldn't  cheat;  but  he  said  the  doctor  reely  knew 
as  much  as  he  did,  and  got  the  very  one  he'd  meant 
to  'a'  kept  for  himself. 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE.  239 

"  This  'ere  hoss  was  a  peeler,  I'll  tell  you !  They'd 
called  him  Tamerlane,  from  some  heathen  feller  or 
other :  the  boys  called  him  Tarn,  for  short.  Tarn 
was  a  gret  character.  All  the  fellers  for  miles 
round  knew  the  doctor's  Tarn,  and  used  to  come 
clear  over  from  the  other  parishes  to  see  him. 

"  Wai,  this  'ere  sot  up  Cuffs  back  high,  I  tell  you ! 
Cuff  was  the  doctor's  nigger  man,  and  he  was  nat'lly 
a  drefful  proud  crittur.  The  way  he  would  swell 
and  strut  and  brag  about  the  doctor  and  his  folks 
and  his  things !  The  doctor  used  to  give  Cuff  his 
cast-off  clothes;  and  Cuff  would  prance  round  in 
'em,  and  seem  to  think  he  was  a  doctor  of  divinity 
himself,  and  had  the  charge  of  all  natur'. 

"  Well,  Cuff  he  reely  made  an  idol  o'  that  'are 
hoss,  —  a  reg'lar  graven  image,  —  and  bowed  down 
and  worshipped  him.  He  didn't  think  nothin'  was 
too  good  for  him.  He  washed  and  brushed  and 
curried  him,  and  rubbed  him  down  till  he  shone 
like  a  lady's  satin  dress ;  and  he  took  pride  in  ridin' 
and  drivin'  him,  'cause  it  was  what  the  doctor 
wouldn't  let  nobody  else  do  but  himself.  You  see, 
Tarn  warn't  no  lady's  hoss.  Miss  Williams  was 


240  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

'fraid  as  death  of  him  ;  and  the  parson,  he  hed  to  git 
her  a  sort  o'  low-sperited  crittur  that  she  could  drive 
herself.  But  he  liked  to  drive  Tarn ;  and  he  liked  to 
go  round  the  country  on  his  back,  and  a  fine  figure 
of  a  man  he  was  on  him  too.  He  didn't  let  nobody 
else  back  him,  or  handle  the  reins,  but  Cuff;  and 
Cuff  was  drefful  set  up  about  it,  and  he  swelled  and 
bragged  about  that  ar  hoss  all  round  the  country. 
Nobody  couldn't  put  in  a  word  'bout  any  other  hoss, 
without  Cuff's  feathers  would  be  all  up,  stiff  as  a 
torn-turkey's  tail ;  and  that's  how  Cuff  got  the  doctor 
into  trouble. 

"Ye  see,  there  nat'lly  was  others  that  thought 
they'd  got  horses,  and  didn't  want  to  be  crowed 
over.  There  was  Bill  Atkins  out  to  the  west  parish, 
and  Ike  Sanders,  that  kep'  a  stable  up  to  Pequot 
Holler :  they  was  down  a-lookin'  at  the  parson's 
hoss,  and  a-bettin'  on  their 'n,  and  a-darin'  Cuff  to 
race  with  'em. 

"  Wai,  Cuff,  he  couldn't  stan'  it,  and,  when  the 
doctor's  back  was  turned,  he'd  be  off  on  the  sly,  and 
they'd  hev  their  race;  and  Tarn,  he  beat  'em  all. 
Tarn,  ye  see,  boys,  was  a  hoss  that  couldn't  and 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE.  241 

wouldn't  hev  a  hoss  ahead  of  him  —  he  jest  wouldn't! 
Ef  he  dropped  down  dead  in  his  tracks  the  next 
minit,  he  would  be  ahead;  and  he  allers  got  ahead. 
And  so  his  name  got  up,  and  fellers  kep'  conrin'  to 
try  their  horses ;  and  Cuff'd  take  Tarn  out  to  race 
with  fust  one  and  then  another  till  this  'ere  got  to 
be  a  reg'lar  thing,  and  begun  to  be  talked  about. 

"  Folks  sort  o'  wondered  if  the  doctor  knew ;  but 
Cuff  was  sly  as  a  weasel,  and  allers  had  a  story 
ready  for  every  turn.  Cuff  was  one  of  them  fellers 
that  could  talk  a  bird  off  a  bush,  —  master  hand  he 
was  to  slick  things  over ! 

"  There  was  folks  as  said  they  believed  the  doctor 
was  knowin'  to  it,  and  that  he  felt  a  sort  o'  carnal 
pride  sech  as  a  minister  oughtn't  fer  to  hev,  and  sso 
shet  his  eyes  to  what  was  a-goin'  on.  Aunt  Sally 
Nickerson  said  she  was  sure  on't.  'Twas  all  talked 
over  down  to  old  Miss  Bummiger's  funeral,  and 
Aunt  Sally,  she  said  the  church  ought  to  look  into't. 
But  everybody  knew  Aunt  Sally :  she  was  allers 
watchin'  for  folks'  haltin's,  and  settin'  on  herself  up 
to  jedge  her  neighbors. 

"  Wai,  I  never  believed  nothin'  agin  Parson  Wil- 


242  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

liams :  it  was  all  Cuff's  contrivances.  But  the  fact 
was,  the  fellers  all  got  their  blood  up,  and  there  was 
hoss-racin'  in  all  the  parishes ;  and  it  got  so  they'd 
even  race  hosses  a  Sunday. 

"  Wai,  of  course  they  never  got  the  doctor's  hoss 
out  a  Sunday.  Cuff  wouldn't  'a'  durst  to  do  that, 
Lordy  massy,  no !  He  was  allers  there  in  church, 
settin'  up  in  the  doctor's  clothes,  rollin'  up  his  eyes, 
and  lookin'  as  pious  as  ef  he  never  thought  o'  racin' 
hosses.  He  was  an  awful  solemn-lookin'  nigger  in 
church,  Cuff  was. 

"  But  there  was  a  lot  o'  them  fellers  up  to  Pequot 
Holler  —  Bill  Atkins,  and  Ike  Sanders,  and  Tom 
Peters,  and  them  Hokum  boys  —  used  to  go  out  arter 
meetin'  Sunday  arternoon,  and  race  hosses.  Ye  see, 
it  was  jest  close  to  the  State-line,  and,  if  the  s'lect- 
men  was  to  come  down  on  'em,  they  could  jest  whip 
over  the  line,  and  they  couldn't  take  'em. 

"  Wai,  it  got  to  be  a  great  scandal.  The  fellers 
talked  about  it  up  to  the  tavern,  and  the  deacons 
and  the  tithingman,  they  took  it  up  and  went  to 
Parson  Williams  about  it;  and  the  parson  he  told 
'em  jest  to  keep  still,  not  let  the  fellers  know  that 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE.  243 

they  was  bein'  watched,  and  next  Sunday  he  and 
the  tithingman  and  the  constable,  they'd  ride  over, 
and  catch  'em  in  the  very  act. 

"  So  next  Sunday  arternoon  Parson  Williams  and 
Deacon  Popkins  and  Ben  Bradley  (he  was  constable 
that  year),  they  got  on  to  their  hosses,  and  rode  over 
to  Pequot  Holler.  The  doctor's  blood  was  up,  and  he 
meant  to  come  down  on  'em  strong ;  for  that  was  his 
way  of  doin'  111  his  parish.  And  they  was  in  a  sort 
o'  day-o'-jedgment  frame  o'  mind,  and  jogged  along 
solemn  as  a  hearse,  till,  come  to  rise  the  hill  above 
the  holler,  they  see  three  or  four  fellers  with  their 
hosses  gittin'  ready  to  race ;  and  the  parson  says  he, 
'  Let's  come  on  quiet,  and  get  behind  these  bushes, 
and  we'll  see  what  they're  up  to,  and  catch  'em  in 
the  act.' 

"  But  the  mischief  on't  was,  that  Ike  Sanders  see 
'em  comin',  and  he  knowed  Tarn  in  a  minit,  —  Ike 
knowed  Tarn  of  old,  —  and  he  jest  tipped  the  wink 
to  the  rest.  4  Wait,  boys,'  says  he  :  '  let  'em  git  close 
up,  and  then  I'll  give  the  word,  and  the  doctor's  hoss 
will  be  racin'  ahead  like  thunder.' 

"  Wai,  so  the  doctor  and  his  folks,  they  drew  up 


244  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

behind  the  bushes,  and  stood  there  innocent  as  could 
be,  and  saw  'em  gittin'  ready  to  start.  Tarn,  he 
begun  to  snuffle  and  paw;  but  the  doctor  never 
mistrusted  what  he  was  up  to  till  Ike  sung  out,  '  Go 
it,  boys  ! '  and  the  hosses  all  started,  when,  sure  as 
you  live,  boys !  Tarn  give  one  fly,  and  was  over  the 
bushes,  and  in  among  'em,  goin'  it  like  chain-lightnin' 
ahead  of  'em  all. 

"  Deacon  Popkins  and  Ben  Bradley  jest  stood  and 
held  their  breath  to  see  em  all  goin'  it  so  like  thun 
der  ;  and  the  doctor,  he  was  took  so  sudden  it  was 
all  he  could  do  to  jest  hold  on  anyway :  so  away  he 
went,  and  trees  and  bushes  and  fences  streaked  by 
him  like  ribbins.  His  hat  flew  off  behind  him,  and 
his  wig  arter,  and  got  catched  in  a  barberry-bush; 
but  Lordy  massy !  he  couldn't  stop  to  think  o'  them. 
He  jest  leaned  down,  and  caught  Tarn  round  the 
neck,  and  held  on  for  dear  life  till  they  come  to  the 
stopping-place. 

"  Wai,  Tarn  was  ahead  of  them  all,  sure  enough, 
and  was  snorting  and  snuffling  as  if  he'd  got  the 
very  old  boy  in  him,  and  was  up  to  racing  some 
more  on  the  spot. 


THE  PAKSON'S  HOKSE-RACE.  245 

"That  'ere  Ike  Sanders  was  the  impudentest 
feller  that  ever  you  see,  and  he  roared  and  rawhawed 
at  the  doctor.  4  Good  for  you,  parson ! '  says  he. 
4  You  beat  us  all  holler,'  says  he.  c  Takes  a  parson  for 
that,  don't  it,  boys  ? '  he  said.  And  then  he  and  Ike 
and  Ton;,  and  the  two  Hokum  boys,  they  jest  roared, 
and  danced  round  like  wild  critturs.  Wai,  now, 
only  think  on't,  boys,  what  a  situation  that  'are  was 
for  a  minister,  —  a  man  that  had  come  out  with  the 
best  of  motives  to  put  a  stop  to  sabbath-breakin'  I 
There  he  was  all  rumpled  up  and  dusty,  and  his  wig 
hangin'  in  the  bushes,  and  these  'ere  ungodly  fellers 
gettin'  the  laugh  on  him,  and  all  acause  o'  that  'are 
hoss.  There's  times,  boys,  when  ministers  must  be 
tempted  to  swear  if  there  ain't  preventin'  grace,  and 
this  was  one  o'  them  times  to  Parson  Williams. 
They  say  he  got  red  in  the  face,  and  looked  as  if  he 
should  bust,  but  he  didn't  say  nothin' :  he  scorned 
to  answer.  The  sons  o'  Zeruiah  was  too  hard  for 
him,  and  he  let  'em  hev  their  say.  But  when  they'd 
got  through,  and  Ben  had  brought  him  his  hat  and 
wig,  and  brushed  and  settled  him  ag'in,  the  parson, 
he  says,  'Well,  boys,  ye've  had  your  say  and  your 


246  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE    STORIES. 

laugh ;  but  I  warn  you  now  I  won't  have  this  thing 
going  on  here  any  more,'  says  he :  'so  mind  your 
selves.' 

"  Wai,  the  boys  see  that  the  doctor's  blood  was 
up,  and  they  rode  off  pretty  quiet ;  and  I  believe 
they  never  raced  no  more  in  that  spot. 

"  But  there  ain't  no  tellin'  the  talk  this  'ere  thing 
made.  Folks  will  talk,  you  know ;  and  there  warn't 
a  house  in  all  Billriky,  nor  in  the  south  parish  nor 
centre,  where  it  warn't  had  over  and  discussed. 
There  was  the  deacon,  and  Ben  Bradley  was  there,  to 
witness  and  show  jest  how  the  thing  was,  and  that 
the  doctor  was  jest  in  the  way  of  his  duty ;  but  folks 
said  it  made'  a  great  scandal ;  that  a  minister  hadn't 
no  business  to  hev  that  kind  o'  hoss,  and  that  he'd 
give  the  enemy  occasion  to  speak  reproachfully.  It 
reely  did  seem  as  if  Tarn's  sins  was  imputed  to  the 
doctor;  and  folks  said  he  ought  to  sell  Tarn  right 
away,  and  get  a  sober  minister's  hoss. 

"  But  others  said  it  was  Cuff  that  had  got  Tarn 
into  bad  ways,  and  they  do  say  that  Cuff  had  to  catch 
it  pretty  lively  when  the  doctor  come  to  settle  with 
him.  Cu$  thought  his  time  had  come,  sure  enough, 


THE  PARSON'S  HORSE-RACE.  247 

and  was  so  scairt  that  he  turned  blacker'n  ever :  he 
got  enough  to  cure  him  o'  hoss-racin'  for  one  while. 
But  Cuff  got  over  it  arter  a  while,  and  so  did  the 
doctor.  Lordy  massy !  there  ain't  nothin'  lasts  for 
ever  !  Wait  long  enough,  and  'most  every  thing 
blows  over.  So  it  turned  out  about  the  doctor. 
There  was  a  rumpus  and  a  fuss,  and  folks  talked  and 
talked,  and  advised ;  everybody  had  their  say :  but 
the  doctor  kep'  right  straight  on,  and  kep'  his  hoss 
all  the  same. 

"  The  ministers,  they  took  it  up  in  the  association ; 
but,  come  to  tell  the  story,  it  sot  'em  all  a-laughin', 
so  they  couldn't  be  very  hard  on  the  doctor. 

"The  doctor  felt  sort  o'  streaked  at  fust  when 
they  told  the  story  on  him ;  he  didn't  jest  like  it : 
but  he  got  used  to  it,  and  finally,  when  he  was 
twitted  on't,  he'd  sort  o'  smile,  and  say,  'Anyway, 
Tarn  beat  'em  :  that's  one  comfort,'  " 


OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  TALKS   OF  THE 
REVOLUTION. 


HE  sacred  work  of  preparation  for 
Thanksgiving  was  at  hand.  Our 
kitchen  was  fragrant  with  the  smell 
of  cinnamon,  cloves,  and  allspice 
which  we  boys  were  daily  set  to 
pound  in  the  great  lignum-vitse  mor 
tar.  Daily  the  great  oven  flamed 
without  cessation ;  and  the  splitting  of  oven-wood 
kept  us  youngsters  so  busy,  that  we  scarce  had  a 
moment  to  play :  yet  we  did  it  with  a  cheerful  mind, 


inspired   by  the  general  aroma  of  coming  festivity 


abroad  in  thejbouse. 

Behold   us   this   evening  around  the  kitchen-fire, 
which  crackled  and  roared   up  the  wide   chimney, 

248 


, 


FIRESIDE   TALKS   OF   THE   REVOLUTION.       249 

brightening  with  its  fluttering  radiance  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  ample  room.  A  tub  of  rosy-cheeked 
apples,  another  of  golden  quinces,  and  a  bushel- 
basket  filled  with  ruby  cranberries,  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  circle.  All  hands  were  busy.  Grand 
mother  in  one  corner  was  superintending  us  boys  as 
we  peeled  and  quartered  the  fruit,  —  an  operation  in 
which  grandfather  took  a  helping  hand ;  Aunt  Lois 
was  busily  looking  over  and  sorting  cranberries, 
when  a  knock  at  the  door  announced  a  visitor. 

"Well,  now,  I  s'pose  that's  Sam  Lawson,  of 
course,"  snapped  Aunt  Lois. 

Aunt  Lois  generally  spoke  with  a  snap ;  but  about 
Thanksgiving  time  it  had  a  cheery  ring,  like  the 
snapping  of  our  brisk  kitchen-fire. 

"  Good-evenin',  Miss  Badger  and  Miss  Lois,"  said 
Sam.  "I  see  yer  winders  so  bright,  I  couldn't  help 
wantin'  to  come  in  and  help  ye  pare  apples,  or 
suthin'." 

We  boys  made  haste  to  give  Sam  the  warmest 
welcome,  and  warmest  place  in  the  chimney-corner, 
and  to  accommodate  him  with  a  tin  pan  full  of 
quinces,  and  a  knife,  when  he  was  soon  settled 
among  us. 


250  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

"  Wai,  this  'ere  does  look  cheerful,  —  looks  like 
Thanksgivin',' '  he  began.  "  Wai,  Lordy  massy  !  we've 
got  a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for  in  this  'ere  land 
o'  privileges ;  hain't  we,  deacon  ?  I  was  a-comin' 
'round  by  Mis'  Lothrop's  to-day ;  and  her  Dinah,  she 
told  me  the  Doctor  was  gettin'  a  great  sermon  out 
on  the  hundred  and  twenty-fourth  Psalm  :  '  If  it  had 
not  been  the  Lord  who  was  on  our  side  when  men 
rose  up  against  us,  then  they  had  swallowed  us  up.' 
He's  a-goin'  to  show  all  our  deliverances  in  the  war. 
I  expect  it'll  be  a  whale  of  a  sermon,  'cause,  when 
our  minister  sets  out  to  do  a  thing,  he  mos'  generally 
does  it  up  to  the  handle.  Tell  ye  what,  boys,  you 
must  listen  with  all  your  ears :  you'll  never  know 
what  times  them  was  if  you  don't  —  you  don't  know 
what  liberty  cost  us  all.  There's  your  gran'ther, 
now,  he  could  tell  ye :  he  'members  when  he  went 
off  to  Lexington  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulders." 

"  Why,  grandfather !  did  you  go  ?  "  we  both  ex 
claimed  with  wide  eyes. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  'tain't  worth 
talkin'  about  what  I  did.  I  was  in  my  mill  that  day, 
minding  my  business,  when  brother  Con,  he  burst  in, 


FIRESIDE  TALKS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.        251 

and  says  he,  4  Look  here,  Bill,  the  regulars  are  goin' 
up  to  Concord  to  destroy  our  stores,  and  we  must 
all  go.  Come,  get  your  gun.'  Well,  I  said  I  was  a 
miller,  and  millers  were  exempt  from  duty ;  but  Con 
wouldn't  let  me  alone.  4  Get  down  your  gun,'  says 
he.  4  Suppose  we're  going  to  let  them  British  fellers 
walk  over  us  ? '  says  he.  Well,  Con  always  had  his 
way  of  me ;  and  I  got  my  gun,  and  we  started  out 
through  the  woods  over  to  Concord.  We  lived  at 
Weston  then,  ye  see.  Well,  when  we  got  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  we  looked  over,  and,  sure  enough, 
there  on  burying-ground  hill  was  the  British  regu 
lars.  The  hill  was  all  alive  with  'em,  marching  here 
and  there  in  their  scarlet  coats  like  so  many  bees  out 
of  a  hive. 

U4Con,'  says  I,  'jest  look  there.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?  ' 

" c  Shoot  some  of  'em,  I  know,'  says  Con. 

"  And  so  we  ran  along,  hiding  behind  trees  and 
bushes  and  stone  walls,  till  we  got  near  enough  to 
get  a  shot  at  'em.  You  see,  they  broke  up  into 
companies,  and  went  here  and  there  about  town, 
looking  for  the  stores ;  and  then,  as  we  got  a  chance 


252  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

here   and  there,  we  marked  our  men,  and  popped, 
and  then  we'd  run,  and  take  aim  somewhere  else." 

"  Wai,  now,  that  are  wa'n't  the  hull  on't,"  said 
Sam.  "Why,  there  was  hundreds  of  fellers  doin' 
just  the  same  all  round :  it  was  jest  pop-pop-pop ! 
from  every  barn,  and  every  bush,  and  clump  o'  trees, 
all  along  the  way.  Men  was  picked  off  all  the  time ; 
and  they  couldn't  see  who  did  it,  and  it  made  'em 
mad  as  fury.  Why,  I  'member  Mis'  Tom  Bigelow, 
she  that  was  Sary  Jones,  told  me  how  they  sot  her 
mother's  house  afire  and  burnt  it  down,  'cause  their 
nigger  man  Caesar  popped  at  'em  out  o'  the  buttery 
window.  They  didn't  tell  him  to  ;  but  Csesar,  he  was 
full  of  fight,  like  all  the  rest  on  'em.  Lordy  massy ! 
the  niggers  went  for  suthin'  in  them  times !  Their 
blood  was  up  as  quick  as  anybody's.  Why,  there 
was  old  Pompey  Lbvejoy  lived  over  by  Pomp's  pond 
in  Andover,  he  hitched  up  his  wagon,  and  driv  over 
with  two  barrels  o'  cider  and  some  tin  dippers,  and 
was  round  all  day  givin'  drinks  o'  cider  to  our  men 
when  they  got  het  and  thirsty  and  tired.  It  was  a 
pretty  warm  day  for  April,  that  was.  Pomp  has  told 
me  the  story  many  a  time.  'Twas  all  the  cider  he 


FIKESIDE  TALKS  OF   THE  REVOLUTION.        253 

had ;  but  cider  goes  for  suthin',  as  well  as  gunpowder 
in  its  place,  and  Pomp's  cider  come  jest  right  that 
day." 

"But  grandfather,"  said  I,  "what  happened  to 
you  over  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  grandfather  placidly,  "  I 
wasn't  killed ;  but  I  come  pretty  nigh  it.  You  see, 
they  sent  into  Boston  for  re-enforcements ;  and,  by 
the  time  we  got  to  Lexington,  Earl  Percy  was  march 
ing  out  with  fresh  troops  and  cannon.  Con  and  I 
were  standing  on  the  meetin'-house  steps,  when 
there  come  a  terrible  bang,  and  something  struck 
right  over  our  heads,  and  went  into  the  meetin'- 
house.  'Why,  Bill!'  says  Con,  'what's  that?'  — 
4  They've  got  cannon :  that's  what  that  is,'  says  I. 
'  Let's  run  'round  the  other  side.'  So  we  did ;  but 
just  as  we  got  round  there,  there  come  another  bang, 
and  a  ball  crashed  right  through  the  meetin'-house, 
and  come  out  of  the  pulpit  window.  Well,  we  saw 
there  was  no  staying  there :  so  we  run  then,  and  got 
into  a  little  clump  of  trees  behind  a  stone  wall ;  and 
there  we  saw  'em  go  by,  —  Earl  Percy  on  his  horse, 
and  all  his  troops,  ever  so  grand.  He  went  on  up  to 


254  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

Concord.  Fact  is,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  and  his 
men,  those  regulars  would  all  have  been  cut  off: 
they  wouldn't  one  of  'em  have  got  back,  for  the 
whole  country  was  up  and  fighting.  The  militia 
came  pouring  in  from  Weston  and  Acton  and  Bill- 
riky,  —  all  the  towns  round.  Then  their  Col.  Smith 
was  wounded,  and  a  good  many  others,  and  lots  of 
'em  killed,  and  our  minute-men  coming  on  'em 
before  and  behind,  and  all  around.  But  ye  see,  we 
couldn't  stand  regular  troops  and  cannon;  and  so, 
when  they  come  on,  we  had  to  give  back.  Earl 
Percy  came  up,  and  formed  a  hollow  square,  and 
they  marched  into  it,  and  so  gave  'em  time  to  rest." 

"  Wai,  there  was  need  enough  on't,"  said  Sam. 
"The  regulars  had  been  hectored  and  picked,  and 
driv  'round  so  from  piller  to  post,  that  they  was  dog 
tired.  Jimmy  Irwin,  he  was  a  little  chap  then ;  but 
he  telled  me  how  he  see  the  men  jest  threw  'emselves 
down  on  the  ground,  their  tongues  trailing  out  o' 
their  mouths  like  hunting-dogs.  You  see,  they  had 
about  two  hundred  wounded,  and  twenty  eight  or 
nine  was  taken  prisoners,  and  sixty-four  killed  out 
right:  so  Lord  Percy  had  his  hands  full  o'  takin' 
care  o'  the  mess  they'd  got  up." 


FIRESIDE  TALKS   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.       255 

"Yes,"  said  my  grandfather,  "there  were  dead 
men  lying  all  around  the  road  as  we  came  back. 
There,  boys ! "  he  said,  pointing  to  a  gun  and  powder- 
horn  over  the  chimney,  "  we  picked  up  these  when 
we  were  coming  home.  We  found  them  on  a  poor 
fellow  who  lay  there  dead  in  the  road  :  there's  some 
blood  of  his  on  it  to  this  day.  We  couldn't  help 
feeling  it  was  most  too  bad  too." 

"  Poor  fellow !  he  wa'n't  to  blame,"  said  my  grand 
mother.  "  Soldiers  have  to  go  as  they're  bid.  War's 
an  awful  thing." 

"  Then  they  shouldn't  have  begun  it,"  interposed 
Aunt  Lois.  " 4  They  that  take  the  sword  shall  per 
ish  by  the  sword.' " 

"  Well,  grandpapa,"  said  I,  u  what  were  the  stores 
they  went  up  to  get  ?  " 

"  They  were  stores  laid  up  to  enable  us  to  go  to 
war,  and  they  were  'round  in  different  places.  There 
were  two  twenty-four-pounders  that  they  spiked, 
and  they  threw  about  five  hundred  pounds  of  ball 
into  the  river  or  wells,  and  broke  up  sixty  barrels 
of  flour,  and  scattered  it  about." 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam  triumphantly,  "  there  was  one 


256  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STOEIES. 

lot  they  didn't  get.  Cap'n  Tim  Wheeler  had 
about  the  biggest  lot  o'  wheat,  and  rye-flour,  and 
corn-meal  stored  up  in  his  barn,  with  some  barrels 
of  his  own.  So  when  this  'ere  fine  jay-bird  of  an 
officer  came  to  him  all  so  grand,  and  told  him  to 
open  his  barn  and  let  him  look  in,  the  cap'n,  he  took 
his  key,  and  walked  right  out,  and  opened  the  barn 
door;  and  the  officer  was  tickled  to  pieces.  He 
thought  he'd  got  such  a  haul ! 

" '  If  you  please,  sir,'  says  the  cap'n,  '  I'm  a  miller, 

and  got  my  living  by  grinding  grain.     I'm  a  poor 

man.     You  can  see  my  mill  out  there.     I  grind  up 

a  lot  o'  grain  in  the  winter,  and  get  it  ready  to  sell 

in  the  spring.     Some's  wheat,  and  some's  rye,  and 

/    some's  corn-meal ;  and  this  wheat  is  mine,  and  this 

rye  is  mine,  and  this  corn-meal  is  mine  ; '    and,  when 

^  he  spoke,  he  put  his  hand  on  his  own  barrels. 

"4Oh!  if  this  is  your  private  property,'  says  the 
officer, 4  we  sha'n't  touch  that :  we  don't  meddle  with 
private  property.'  And  so  he  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  the  cap'n,  he  locked  up  his  barn." 

"  Was  that  telling  the  truth?  "  said  I. 

"Wai,  you  see  it  was  true  what  he  said,"  said 


FIRESIDE  TALKS   OF   THE  REVOLUTION.        257 

Sam.     "Them   bar'ls   lie    laid    his    hands    on   was 
hisn." 

"  But  Aunt  Lois  told  me  yesterday  it  was  as  bad 
to  act  a  lie  as  to  speak  one,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  so  I  did,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "  The  truth 
is  the  truth,  and  I'll  stick  to  it." 

"  But,  Aunt  Lois,  would  you  have  told  him,  and 
let  him  break  up  all  those  barrels?  " 

"No,  I  shouldn't,"  said  Aunt  Lois.  "I  should 
have  done  just  as  Cap'n  Tim  did ;  but  I  should  have 
done  wrong.  Right  is  right,  and  wrong  is  wrong, 
even  if  I  can't  come  up  to  it  always." 

"What  would  you  have  done,  grandfather?" 
said  I. 

My  grandfather's  mild  face  slowly  irradiated,  as 
when  moonbeams  pass  over  a  rock. 

"  Well,  boys,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  let  him  break  up  those  barrels.  If  it  was 
wrong  to  do  as  Cap'n  Wheeler  did,  I  think  most 
likely  I  should  'a'  done  it.  I  don't  suppose  I'm  any 
better  than  he  was." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  "  what  folks  N 
da  in  war  time  is  no  rule  for  ordinary  times :   every 


258  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

thing  is  upset  then.  There  ain't  any  of  the  things 
they  do  in  war  time  that  are  according  to  gospel 
teaching ;  but,  if  you  boys  were  to  do  just  as  Cap'n 
Wheeler  did,  I  should  say  you  lied  by  speaking  the 
truth." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  those  were 
dreadful  times.  Thank  the  Lord  that  they  are  past 
and  gone,  and  we  don't  have  such  awful  cases  of 
conscience  as  we  did  then.  I  never  could  quite  see 
how  we  did  right  to  resist  the  king  at  all." 

"Why,  the  Bible  says,  ; Resist  the  devil,'"  said 
Aunt  Lois. 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  sally. 

"  I  always  heard,"  said  my  grandfather,  by  way  of 
changing  the  subject,  "that  they  meant  to  have 
taken  Mr.  Adams  and  Mr.  Hancock  and  hung  'em." 

"Wai,  to  be  sure  they  did,"  said  Sam  Lawson. 
"I  know  all  about  that  are.  Sapphira  Clark,  up 
to  Lexington,  she  told  me  all  about  that  are,  one 
day  when  I  was  to  her  house  puttin'  down  her  best 
parlor  carpet.  Sapphira  wa'n't  but  ten  or  eleven 
years  old  when  the  war  broke  out ;  but  she  remem 
bered  all  about  it.  Ye  see,  Mr.  Hancock  and 


FLRESIDE   TALKS   OF   THE   REVOLUTION.        259 

Mr.  Adams  was  a-staying  hid  up  at  their  house. 
Her  father,  Mr.  Jonas  Clark,  was  minister  of  Lex 
ington  ;  and  he  kep'  'em  quite  private,  and  didn't 
let  nobody  know  they  was  there.  Wai,  Sapphira 
said  they  was  all  a-settin'  at  supper,  when  her  father, 
he  heard  a  great  rapping  at  the  front-door ;  and  her 
father  got  up  and  went  and  opened  it ;  and  she 
looked  after  him  into  the  entry,  and  could  just  see 
a  man  in  a  scarlet  uniform  standing  at  the  door,  and 
she  heard  him  ask,  '  Are  Sam  Adams  and  John  Han 
cock  here  ? '  And  her  father  answered,  4  Oh,  hush ! 
Don't  mention  those  names  here.'  — '  Then,'  says  the 
man,  c  I  come  to  tell  you  the  British  troops  will  be 
along  by  sunrise;  and,  if  they  are  in  your  house, 
they'd  better  escape  right  away.' " 

"That  must  have  been  Col.  Paul  Revere,"  said 
Aunt  Lois.  "He  went  all  through  the  country, 
from  Boston  to  Concord,  rousing  up  people,  and 
telling  'em  to  be  ready." 

"  Well,  what  did  Mr.  Adams  and  Hancock  do  ?  " 
"Wai,  they  got  ready  right   away,  and   slipped 
quietly   out   the    back-door,   and    made    their   way 
over   to    Burlington,   and    staid    in    the    minister's 
house  over  there  out  of  the  way  of  the  battle." 


260  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

"What  would  the  British  have  done  with  'em, 
if  they  had  caught  them  ?  "  said  I. 

"Hung  'em  —  high  as  Haman,"  said  my  Aunt 
Lois  sententiously.  "  That's  what  they'd  have  done. 
That's  what  they'd  'a'  done  to  them,  and  to  Gen. 
Washington,  and  lots  more,  if  they'd  had  their 
way." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  grandfather,  "  they  were  mighty 
high-stepping  at  first.  They  thought  they  had  only 
to  come  over  and  show  themselves,  and  they  could 
walk  through  the  land,  and  hang  and  burn  and 
slay  just  whom  they'd  a  mind  to." 

"Wai,  they  found  'twas  like  jumping  into  a 
hornets'  nest,"  said  Sam  Lawson.  "They  found 
that  out  at  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill." 

"  Brother  Con  was  in  those  trenches  at  Bunker 
Hill,"  said  grandfather.  "  There  they  dug  away  at 
the  breastworks,  with  the  bom'-shells  firing  round 
'em.  They  didn't  mind  them  more  than  if  they'd 
been  hickory-nuts.  They  kep'  fellows  ready  to 
pour  water  on  'em  as  they  fell." 

"Well,  I  never  want  to  feel  again  as  I  did  that 
day,"  said  grandmother.  "  I  was  in  Boston,  visiting 


FJ  RESIDE   TALKS   OF   THE   REVOLUTION.        261 

cousin  Jemima  Russel,  and  we  were  all  out  on  the 
roof  of  the  house.  The  roofs  everywhere  were  all 
alive  with  people  looking  through  spy-glasses ;  and 
we  could  hear  the  firing,  but  couldn't  tell  how  the 
day  was  going.  And  then  they  set  Charlestown  on 
fire ;  and  the  blaze  and  smoke  and  flame  rose  up,  and 
there  was  such  a  snapping  and  crackling,  and  we 
could  hear  roofs  and  timbers  falling,  and  see  people 
running  this  way  and  that  with  their  children  — 
women  scared  half  to  death  a-flying ;  and  we  knew 
all  the  time  there  was  cousin  Jane  Wilkinson  in 
that  town  sick  in  bed,  with  a  baby  only  a  few  days 
old.  It's  a  wonder  how  Jane  ever  lived  through 
it;  but  they  did  get  her  through  alive,  and  her 
baby  too.  That  burning  Charlestown  settled  the 
point  with  a  good  many.  They  determined  then 
to  fight  it  through :  it  was  so  mean  and  cruel  and 
needless." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  grandfather,  "  that  day  settled 
the  question  that  we  would  be  free  and  inde 
pendent,  or  die ;  and,  though  our  men  had  to 
retreat,  yet  it  was  as  good  as  a  defeat  to  the 
British.  They  lost  ten  hundred  and  fifty-four  in 


262  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

killed  and  wounded,  and  we  only  four  hundred  and 
fifty-three ;  and  our  men  learned  that  they  could 
fight  as  well  as  the  British.  Congress  went  right 
to  work  to  raise  an  army,  and  appointed  Gen.  Wash 
ington  commander.  Your  gran'ther  Stowe,  boys, 
was  orderly  of  the  day  when  Gen.  Washington 
took  the  command  at  Cambridge." 

"  Wai,"  said  Sam,  "  I  was  in  Cambridge  that  day 
and  saw  it  all.  Ye  see,  the  army  was  drawn  up 
under  the  big  elm  there ;  and  Ike  Newel  and  I,  we 
clim  up  into  a  tree,  and  got  a  place  where  we 
could  look  down  and  see.  I  wa'n't  but  ten  year 
old  then ;  but,  if  ever  a  mortal  man  looked  like 
the  angel  of  the  Lord,  the  gineral  looked  like  it 
that  day." 

"  Some  said  that  there  was  trouble  about  having 
Gen.  Ward  give  up  the  command  to  a  Southern 
man,"  said  my  grandfather.  "  Gen.  Ward  was  a 
brave  man  and  very  popular ;  but  everybody  was 
satisfied  when  they  came  to  know  Gen.  Washing 
ton." 

"There  couldn't  no  minister  have  seemed  more 
godly  than  he  did  that  day,"  said  Sam.  "  He  read 
out  of  the  hymn-book  the  hundred  and  first  Psalm." 


FIRESIDE  TALKS   OF  THE  REVOLUTION.        263 

"  What  is  that  psalm  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Laws,  boys !  I  know  it  by  heart,"  said  Sam,  "  I 
was  so  impressed  hearin'  on  him  read  it.  I  can  say 
it  to  you  :  — 

"  'Mercy  and  judgment  are  my  song, 
And  since  they  both  to  thee  belong, 
My  gracious  God,  my  righteous  King, 
To  thee  my  songs  and  vows  I  bring. 
If  I  am  raised  to  bear  the  sword, 
I'll  take  my  counsels  from  thy  word. 
Thy  justice  and  thy  heavenly  grace 
Shall  be  the  pattern  of  my  ways. 
I'll  search  the  land,  and  raise  the  just 
To  posts  of  honor,  wealth,  and  trust : 
The  men  who  work  thy  righteous  will 
Shall  be  my  friends  and  favorites  still. 
The  impious  crew,  the  factious  band, 
Shall  hold  their  peace,  or  quit  the  land; 
And  all  who  break  the  public  rest, 
Where  I  have  power,  shall  be  suppressed.'  " 

"  And  he  did  it  too,"  remarked  Aunt  Lois. 

"He  trusted  in  the  Lord,  and  the  Lord  brought 
him  to  honor,"  said  my  grandmother.  "When  he 
took  the  army,  every  thing  was  agin'  us :  it  didn't 
seem  possible  we  should  succeed." 


264  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

"Wai,  he  was  awful  put  to  it  sometimes,"  said 
Sam  Lawson.  "  I  'member  Uncle  David  Morse  was 
a-tellin'  me  'bout  that  are  time  down  in  New  York 
when  the"  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  boys  all 
broke  and  run." 

"Massachusetts  boys  run?  How  came  that 
Sam?"  said  I. 

"  Wai,  you  see,  sometimes  fellows  will  get  a-run- 
nin' ;  and  it  jest  goes  from  one  to  another  like  fire, 
and  ye  can't  stop  it.  It  was  after  the  battle  of  Long 
Island,  when  our  men  had  been  fighting  day  after 
day,  and  had  to  retreat.  A  good  many  were 
wounded,  and  a  good  many  of  'em  were  sick  and 
half-sick;  and  they'd  got  sort  o'  tired  and  discour 
aged. 

"  Well,  Lord  Howe  and  the  British  came  to  make 
a  landing  at  Kipp's  Bay  round  by  New  York;  and 
the  troops  set  to  guard  the  landing  began  to  run, 
and  the  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  men  were 
sent  to  help  'em.  Uncle  David  says  that  the  fellows 
that  run  spread  the  panic  among  'em ;  and  they 
looked  ahead,  and  saw  an  ox-drag  on  top  of  a  hill 
they  was  to  pass,  and  they  thought  'twas  a  cannon 


FIRESIDE  TALKS   OF  THE   REVOLUTION.      ^265 

pintin'  right  at  'em ;  and  the  boys,  they  jest  broke 
and  run,  —  cut  right  across  the  road,  and  cleared 
over  the  fence,  and  streaked  it  off  cross-lots  and  up 
hill  like  a  flock  o'  sheep.  Uncle  David,  he  run  too ; 
but  he'd  been  sick  o'  xlysentary,  and  was  so  weak 
he  couldn't  climb  the  fence :  so  he  stopped  and 
looked  back,  and  saw  Gineral  Washington  cantering 
up  behind  'em,  shouting,  and  waving  his  sword,  look 
ing  like  a  flamin'  fire.  Oh,  he  was  thunderin'  mad, 
the  gineral  was !  And,  when  he  see  the  fellows  skit 
tering  off  cross-lots,  he  jest  slammed  his  hat  down  on 
the  ground,  and  give  up.  '  Great  heavens ! '  says 
he,  '  are  these  the  men  I've  got  to  fight  this  battle 
with?' 

"  Wai,  Uncle  David,  he  picked  up  the  gineral's 
hat,  and  come  up  and  made  his  bow,  and  said, 
4  Gineral,  here's  your  hat,' 

44  4  Thank  you,  sir ! '  said  the  gineral.  4  I'm  glad 
to  see  one  brave  fellow  that  can  stand  his  ground. 
You  didn't  run.' 

44  Uncle  David  said  he  felt  pretty  cheap,  'cause  he 
know'd  in  his  own  heart  that  he  would  'a'  run,  only 
he  was  too  weak  to  git  over  the  fence ;  but  he  didn't 


266  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

tell  the  gineral  that,  I  bet^y  He  put  the  compliment 
in  his  pocket,  and  said  nothing ;  for  now  the  gineral's 
aides  came  riding  up  full  drive,  and  told  him  they 
must  be  off  out  of  the  field  in  a  minute,  or  the  British 
would  have  'em,  and  so  one  on  'em  took  Uncle  David 
up  behind  him,  and  away  they  cantered.  It  was  a 
pretty  close  shave  too :  the  British  was  only  a  few 
rods  behind  'em. 

"  Oh,  dear,  if  they  had  caught  him ! "  said  I. 
"  Only  think  !  " 

"  Well,  they  would  have  hung  him ;  but  we  should 
have  had  another  in  his  place,"  said  Aunt  Lois. 
"  The  war  wouldn't  'a'  stopped." 

"Well,  'twas  to  be  as  'twas,"  said  my  grandmother. 
"  The  Lord  had  respect  to  the  prayers  of  our  fathers, 
and  he'd  decreed  that  America  should  be  free." 

"  Yes,"  said  Sam :  "  Parson  Badger  said  in  one  o' 
his  sermons,  that  men  always  was  safe  when  they  was 
goin'  in  the  line  o'  God's  decrees :  I  guess  that  are 
was  about  it.  But,  massy!  is  that  are  the  nine 
o'clock  bell?  I  must  make  haste  home,  or  I  dun' 
know  what  Hetty  11  say  to  me." 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY. 


MONG  the  pleasantest  of  my  rec 
ollections  of  old  Bowdoin  is  the 
salt-air  flavor  of  its  sea  experi 
ences.  The  site  of  Brunswick  is 
a  sandy  plain,  on  which  the  col 
lege  buildings  seem  to  have  been 
dropped  for  (the  good  old  Yankee 
•economic  reason  of  using  land  for  public  build 
ings  that  could  not  be  used  for  any  thing  else. 
The  soil  was  a  fathomless  depth  of  dry,  sharp, 
barren  sand,  out  of  whose  bosom  nothing  but 
pitch-pines  and  blueberry-bushes  emerged,  or  ever 
could  emerge  without  superhuman  efforts  of  culti 
vation.  But  these  sandy  plains,  these  pine  forests, 
were  neighbors  to  the  great,  lively,  musical  blue 


268  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

ocean,  whose  life-giving  presence  made  itself  seen, 
heard,  and  felt  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night. 
The  beautiful  peculiarity  of  the  Maine  coast, 
where  the  sea  interpenetrates  the  land  in  pictur 
esque  fiords  and  lakes,  brought  a  constant  roman 
tic  element  into  the  landscape.  White-winged 
ships  from  India  or  China  came  gliding  into  the 
lonely  solitude  of  forest  recesses,  ( bringing  news 
from  strange  lands,  and  tidings  of  wild '  adventure, 
into  secluded  farmhouses,  that,  for  the  most  part, 
seemed  to  be  dreaming  in  woodland  solitudej.  In 
the  early  days  of  my  college  life  the  shipping 
interest  of  Maine  gave  it  an  outlook  into  all  the 
countries  of  the  earth.  Ships  and  ship-building 
and  ship-launching  were  the  drift  of  the  popular 
thought;  and  the  very  minds  of  the  people  by 
this  commerce  had  apparently 

"  Suffered  a  sea  change 
Into  something  rare  and  strange." 

There  was   a   quaintness,  shrewdness,  and  vivacity 
e    about   these   men, (half  skipper,   half  farmer)   that 
was  piquant  and  enlivening. 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY!  269 

It  was  in  the  auspicious  period  of  approaching 
Thanksgiving  that  my  chum  and  I  resolved  to 
antedate  for  a  few  days  our  vacation,  and  take 
passage  on  the  little  sloop  "  Brilliant,"  that  lay 
courtesying  and  teetering  on  the  bright  waters  of 
Maquoit  Bay,  loading  up  to  make  her  Thanks 
giving  trip  to  Boston. 

It  was  a  bright  Indian-summer  afternoon  that 
saw  us  all  on  board  the  little  craft.  She  was 
laden  deep  with  dainties  and  rarities  for  the  festal 
appetites  of  Boston  nabobs,  —  loads  of  those  mealy 
potatoes  for  which  the  fields  of  Maine  were  justly 
famed,  barrels  of  ruby  cranberries,  boxes  of  solid 
golden  butter  (ventures  of  a  thrifty  housemother 
emulous  to  gather  kindred  gold  in  the  Boston 
market).  Then  there  were  dressed  chickens,  tur 
keys,  and  geese,  all  going  the  same  way,  on  the 
same  errand;  and  there  were  sides  and  saddles 
of  that  choice  mutton  for  which  the  sea  islands 
of  Maine  were  as  famous  as  the  South  Downs  of 
England. 

Every  thing  in  such  a  stowage  was  suggestive 
of  good  cheer.  The  little  craft  itself  had  a  soci- 


270  OCDTOWN  FIBESIDE   STORIES. 

J  able,  friendly,  domestic  air.  The  captain  and  mate 
were  cousins:  the  men  were  all  neighbors,  sons  of 
families  who  had  grown  up  together.  There  was 
a  kindly  home  flavor  in  the  very  stowage  of  the 
cargo.  Here  were  Melissa's  cranberries,  and  by 
many  a  joke  and  wink  we  were  apprised  that  the 
mate  had  a  tender  interest  in  that  venture.  There 
was  Widder  Toothacre's  butter,  concerning  which 
there  were  various  comments  and  speculations, 
but  which  was  handled  and  cared  for  with  the 
consideration  the  Maine  sailor-boy  always  gives  to 
"the  widder."  There  was  a  private  keg  of  very 
choice  eggs,  over  which  the  name  of  Lucindy 
Ann  was  breathed  by  a  bright-eyed,  lively  young 
ster,  who  had  promised  to  bring  her  back  the 
change,  and^as  to  the  precise  particulars  of  this 

(  change  many  a  witticism  was  expended.  / 

Our  mode  of  living  on  the  "  Brilliant "  was  of 
the  simplest  and  most  primitive  kind.  On  each 
side  the  staircase  that  led  down  to  the  cabin, 
hooped  strongly  to  the  partition,  was  a  ba-rel, 
which  on  the  one  side  contained  salt  beef,  and  on 
the  other  salt  pork.  A  piece  out  of  each  barrel, 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  271 

delivered  regularly  to  the  cook,  formed  the  foun 
dation  of  our  daily  meals;  and  sea-biscuit  and 
potatoes,  with  the  sauce  of  salt-water  appetites, 
made  this  a  feast  for  a  king.  I  make  no  mention 
here  of  gingerbread  and  doughnuts,  and  such  like  ' 
ornamental  accessories,  which  were  not  wanting, 
nor  of  nuts  and  sweet  cider,  which  were  to  be 
had  for  the  asking.  At  meal-times  a  swing-shelf, 
which  at  other  seasons  hung  flat  against  the  wall, 
was  propped  up,  and  our  meals  were  eaten  there 
on  in  joyous  satisfaction. 

A  joyous,  rollicking  set  we  were,  and  the  whole 
expedition  was  a  frolic  of  the  first  water.  One  of 
the  drollest  features  of  these  little  impromptu 
voyages  often  was  the  woe-begone  aspect  of  some 
unsuspecting  land-lubber,  who  had  been  beguiled 
into  thinking  that  he  would  like  a  trip  to  Boston 
by  seeing  the  pretty  "Brilliant"  courtesying  in 
the  smooth  waters  of  Maquoit,  and  so  had  em 
barked,  in  innocent  ignorance  of  the  physiological 
res1  .fcs  of  such  enterprises. 

I  remember  the  first  morning  out.  As  we  were 
driving  ahead,  under  a  stiff  breeze,  I  came  on 


272  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

deck,  and  found  th4_respectable  Deacon  Muggins,^ 
who  in  his  Sunday  coat  had  serenely  embarked 
the  day  before,  now  desolately  clinging  to  the 
railing,  very  white  about  the  gills,  and  contem 
plating  the  sea  with  a  most  suggestive  expression 
of  disgust  and  horror. 

"Why,  deacon,  good-morning!  How  are  you? 
Splendid  morning ! "  said  I  maliciously. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  surveyed  me  with  a 
mixture  of  indignation  and  despair,  and  then  gave 
vent  to  his  feelings:  "Tell  ye  what:  there  was 
one  darned  old  fool  up  to  Brunswick  yesterday ! 
but  he  ain't  there  now :  he's  here"  The  deacon, 
in  the  weekly  prayer-meeting  at  Brunswick,  used 
to  talk  of  the  necessity  of  being  "emptied  of 
self:"  he  seemed  to  be  in  the  way  of  it  in  the 
most  literal  manner  at  the  present  moment.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  was  extended  on  the  deck,  the 
most  utterly  limp  and  dejected  of  deacons,  and 
vowing  with  energy,  if  he  ever  got  out  o'  this 
'ere,  you  wouldn't  catch  him  again.  Of  course, 
my  chum  and  I  were  not  seasick.  We  were  pros 
perous  young  sophomores  in  Bowdoin  College, 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STOKY.  273 

and  would  have  scorned  to  acknowledge  such  a 
weakness.  In  fact,  we  were  in  that  happy  state 
of  self-opinion  where  we  surveyed  every  thing  in 
creation,  as  birds  do,  from  above,  and  were  dis 
posed  to  patronize  everybody  we  met,  with  a 
pleasing  conviction  that  there  was  nothing  worth 
knowing,  but  what  we  were  likely  to  know,  OTJ 
worth  doing,  but  what  we  could  do. 

Capt.  Stanwood  liked  us,  and  we  liked  him: 
we  patronized  him,  and  he  was  quietly  amused  at 
our  patronage,  and  returned  it  in  kind.  He  was 
a  good  specimen  of  the  sea-captain  in  those  early 
days  in  Maine :  a  man  in  middle  life,  tall,  thin, 
wiry,  and  active,  full  of  resource  and  shrewd 
mother-wit ;  a  man  very  confident  in  his  opinions, 
becaus^nis  knowledge  was  all  got  at  first-hand, —  \ 
the  result  of  a  careful  use  of  his  own  five  senses.  - 
From  his  childhood  he  had  followed  the  seas,  and, 
as  he  grew  older,  made  voyages  to  Archangel,  to 
Messina,  to  the  West  Indies,  and  finally  round 
the  Horn ;  and,  having  carried  a  very  sharp  and 
careful  pair  of  eyes,  he  had  acquired  not  only  a 
snug  competency  of  worldly  goods,  but  a  large 


274  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

stock  of  facts  and  inductions,  which  stood  him  in 
stead  of  an  education.  He  was  master  of  a  thriv 
ing  farm  at  Harpswell,  and,  being  tethered  some 
what  by  love  of  wife  and  children,  was  mostly 
stationary  there,  yet  solaced  himself  by  running  a 
little  schooner  to  Boston,  and  driving  a  thriving 
bit  of  trade  by  the  means.  With  that  reverence 
for  learning  which  never  deserts  the  New-Eng- 
lander,  he  liked  us  the  better  for  being  collegians, 
and  amiably  conceded  that  there  were  things 
quite  worth  knowing  taught  "up  to  Brunswick 
there,"  though  he  delighted  now  and  then  to 
show  his  superiority  in  talking  about  what  he 
knew  better  than  we. 

Jim    Lamed,  the   mate,  was   a   lusty   youngster,    ! 
a  sister's  son  whom  he   had   taken   in   training   in 
the  way  he   should   go.     Jim   had  already  made  a 
voyage  to  Liverpool  and  the  East  Indies,  and   felt 
himself  also  quite  an  authority  in  his  own  way. 

The  evenings  were  raw  and  cool ;  and  we  gener 
ally  gathered  round  the  cabin  stove,  cracking  wal 
nuts,  smoking,  and  telling  stories,  and  having  a 
jolly  time  generally.  It  is  but '  due  to  those  old 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  275 

days  to  say  that  a  most  respectable  Puritan  flavor 
penetrated  even  the  recesses  of  those  coasters,  —  a 
sort  of  gentle  Bible  and  psalm-book  aroma,  so 
that  there  was  not  a  word  or  a  joke  among  the 
men  to  annoy  the  susceptibilities  even  of  a  dea 
con.  Our  deacon,  somewhat  consoled  and  amend 
ed,  lay  serene  in  his  berth,  rather  enjoying  the 
yarns  that  we  were  spinning.  The  web,  of  course, 
was  many-colored,  —  of  quaint  and  strange  and 
wonderful ;  and,  as  the  night  wore  on,  it  was  dyed 
in  certain  weird  tints  of  the  supernatural. 

"Well,"  said  Jim  Lamed,  "folks  may  say  what 
they're  a  mind  to:  there  are  things  that  there's 
no  sort  o'  way  o'  'countin'  for,  —  things  you've 
jist  got  to  say.  Well,  here's  suthin'  to  work 
that  I  don't  know  nothin'  about;  and,  come  to 
question  any  man  up  sharp,  you'll  find  he's  seen 
one  thing  o'  that  sort'  himself;  and  this  'ere  I'm 
going  to  tell's  my  story :  — 

"  Four  years  ago  I  went  down  to  aunt  Jerushy's 
at  Fair  Haven.  Her  husband's  in  the  oysterin' 
business,  and  I  used  to  go  out  with  him  considera 
ble.  -Well,  there  was  Bill  Jones  there,  —  a  real 


276  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

bright  fellow,  one  of  your  open-handed,  lively  fel 
lows, —  and  he  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  I  to  him, 
and  he  and  I  struck  up  a  friendship.  He  run  an 
oyster-smack  to  New  York,  and  did  a  considera 
ble  good  business  for  a  young  man.  Well,  Bill 

had  a  fellow  on  his  smack   that    I  never  ^iked  the 

/ 

looks  of.  He  was  from  the  Malays,  or  'some  for 
eign  crittur,  or  other;  spoke  broken  English;  had 
eyes  set  kind  o'  edgeways  'n  his  head:  homely  as 
sin  he  was,  and  I  always  mistrusted  him.  'Bill,' 
I  used  to  say,  4you  look  out  for  that  fellow: 
don't  you  trust  him.  If  I  was  you,  I'd  ship  him 
off  short  metre.'  But  Bill,  he  only  laughed. 
'Why,'  says  he,  'I  can  get  double  work  for  the_ 
same  pay  out  o'  that  fellow;  and  what  do  I  care 
if  he  ain't  handsome?'  I  remember  how  chipper 
an'  cheery  Bill  looked  when  he  was  say  in'  that, 
just  as  he  was  going  down  to  New  York  with  his 
load  o'  oysters.  Well,  the  next  night  I  was 
sound  asleep  in  aunt  Jerusha's  front-chamber  that 
opens  towards  the  Sound,  and  I  was  waked  right 
clear  out  o'  sleep  by  Bill's  voice  screaming  to  me. 
I  got  up  and  run  to  the  window,  and  looked 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  277 

out,  and  I  heard  it  again,  plain  as  any  thing: 
'  Jim,  Jim !  Help,  help ! '  It  wasn't  a  common 
cry,  neither:  it  was  screeched  out,  as  if  somebody 
was  murdering  him.  I  tell  you,  it  rung  through 
my  head  for  weeks  afterwards." 

"Well,  what  came  of  it?"  said  my  chum,  as 
the  narrator  made  a  pause,  and  we  all  looked  at 
him  in  silence. 

"Well,  as  nigh  as  we  can  make  it  out,  that 
very  night  poor  Bill  was  murdered  by  that  very 
Malay  feller:  leastways,  his  body  was  found  in 
his  boat.  He'd  been  stabbed,  and  all  his  money 
and  watch  and  things  taken,  and  this  Malay  was 
gone  nobody  knew  where.  That's  all  that  was 
ever  known  about  it." 

"But  surely,"  said  my  chum,  who  was  of  a 
very  literal  and  rationalistic  turn  of  mind,  "it 
couldn't  have  been  his  voice  you  heard:  he  must 
have  been  down  to  the  other  end  of  the  Sound, 
close  by  New  York,  by  that  time." 

"Well,"  said  the  mate,  "all  I  know  is,  that  I 
was  waked  out  of  sleep  by  Bill's  voice  calling  my 
name,  screaming  in  a  real  agony.  It  went  through 


278  OLDTOWN   FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

ine  like  lightning;  and  then  I  find  he  was  mur 
dered  that  night.  Now,  I  don't  know  any  thing 
about  it.  I  know  I  heard  him  calling  me ;  I 
know  he  was  murdered:  but  how  it  was,  or  what 
it  was,  or  why  it  was,  I  don't  know." 

"These  'ere  college  boys  can  tell  ye,"  said  the 
captain.  "  Of  course,  they've  got  into  sophomore 
year,  and  there  ain't  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth 
that  they  don't  know." 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  say  with  Hamlet,  'There  are 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio,  than 
are  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy.' " 

"  Well,"  said  my  chum,  with  the  air  of  a  phi 
losopher,  ^ "  what  shakes  my  faith  in  all  super 
natural  stories  is,  that  I  can't  see  any  use  or 
purpose  in  themj 

"Wai,  if  there  couldn't  nothin'  happen  nor  be 
except  what  you  could  see  a  use  in,  there 
wouldn't  much  happen  nor  be,"  quoth  the  captain. 

A  laugh  went  round  at  the  expense  of  my 
friend. 

"  Wai,  now,  I'll  tell  ye  what,  boys,"  piped  the 
thin  voice  of  the  deacon,  "folks  mustn't  be  too 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  279 

presumptuous:  there  is  providences  permitted  that 
we  don't  see  no  use  in;  but  they  do  happen, — 
yes,  they  do.  Now,  what  Jim  Larned's  been  a-tell- 
in'  is  a  good  deal  like  what  happened  to  me  once, 
when  I  was  up  to  Umbagog,  in  the  lumberin' 
business." 

"  Halloo  !  "  called  out  Jim,  "  here's  the  deacon's 
story !  I  told  you  every  man  had  one.  —  Give  it 
to  us,  deacon !  Speak  out,  and  don't  be  bash 
ful  I " 

"Wai,  really,  it  ain't  what  I  like  to  talk 
about,"  said  the  deacon,  in  a  quavering,  uncertain 
voice;  "but  I  don't  know  but  I  may  as  well, 
though. 

"It  was  that  winter  I  was  up  to  Umbagog.  I 
was  clerk,  and  kep'  the  'counts  and  books,  and 
all  that;  and  Tom  Huly,  —  he  was  surveyor  and 
marker,  —  he  was  there  with  me,  and  we  chummed 
together.  And  there  was  Jack  Cutter;  he  was 
jest  out  o'  college :  he  was  there  practising  sur- 
veyin'  with  him.  We  three  had  a  kind  o'  pine- 
board  sort  o'  shanty,  built  out  on  a  plain  near  by 
the  camp:  it  had  a  fire-place,  and  two  windows, 


280  OLDTOWN   FIEESIDE   STOKIES. 

and   our   bunks,    and   each   of   us   had   our   tables 
and  books  and  things. 

"Well,  Huly,  he  started  with  a  party  of  three 
or  four  to  go  up  through  the  woods  to  look  out 
a  new  tract.  It  was  two  or  three  days'  journey 
through  the  woods;  and  jest  about  that  time  the 
'  Indians  up  there  was  getting  sort  o'  uneasy,  and 
we  all  thought  mabbe  'twas  sort  o'  risky :  how- 
somdever,  Tom  had  gone  off  in  high  spirits,  and 
told  us  to  be  sure  and  take  care  of  his  books  and 
papers.  Tom  had  a  lot  of  books,  and  thought 
every  thing  of  'em,  and  was  sort  o'  particular  and 
nice  about  his  papers.  His  table  sot  up  one  side, 
by  the  winder,  where  he  could  see  to  read  and 
write.  Well,  he'd  been  gone  four  days,  when  one 
night  —  it  was  a  bright  "moonlight  night  —  Jack 
and  I  were  sitting  by  the  fire,  reading,  and  be 
tween  nine  and  ten  o'clock  there  came  a  strong, 
regular  knock  on  the  window  over  by  Tom's 
table.  We  were  sitting  with  our  backs  to  the 
window.  4  Halloo ! '  says  Jack,  4  who's  that  ? '  We 
both  jumped  up,  and  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out,  and  see  there  war  n't  nobody  there. 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  281 

"'This  is  curus,'  said  I. 

"'Some  of  the  boys  trying  to  trick  us,'  says  he. 
4  Let's  keep  watch :  perhaps  .  they'll  do  it  again,' 
says  he. 

"We  sot  down  by  the  fire,  and  'fore  long  it 
came  again. 

"Then  Jack  and  I  both  cut  out  the  door,  and 
run  round  the  house,  —  he  one  way,  and  I  the 
other.  It  was  light  as  day,  and  nothin'  for  any 
body  to  hide  behind,  and  there  warn't  a  critter  in 
sight.  Well,  we  come  in  and  sot  down,  and 
looked  at  each  other  kind  o'  puzzled,  when  it 
come  agin,  harder'n  ever;  and  Jack  looked  to  the 
window,  and  got  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

" '  For  the  Lord's  sake,  do  look ! '  says  he. 
And  you  may  believe  me  or  not ;  but  I  tell  you 
it's  a  solemn  fact:  Tom's  books  was  movin', — jest 
as  if  somebody  was  pickin'  'em  up,  and  putting 
'em  down  again,  jest  as  I've  seen  him  do  a  hun 
dred  times. 

" '  Jack,'  says  I,  '  something's  happened  to 
Tom.' 

"Wai,   there    had.     That   very   night    Tom   was 


282  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

\  murdered  by  the  Indians.  We  put  down  the 
date,  and  a  week  arter  the  news  came." 

"Come  now,  captain,"  said  I,  breaking  the 
pause  that  followed  the  deacon's  story,  "give  us 
your  story.  You've  been  all  over  the  world,  in 
all  times  and  all  weathers,  and  you  ain't  a  man 
to  be  taken  in.  Did  you  ever  see  any  thing  of 
this  sort?" 

"Well,  now,  boys,  since  you  put  it  straight  at 
me,  I  don't  care  if  I  say  I  have,  —  on  these  'ere 
very  waters  we're  a-sailin'  over  now,  on  board 
this  very  schooner,  in  this  very  cabin." 

This  was  bringing  matters  close  home.  We  felt 
an  agreeable  shiver,  and  looked  over  our  shoul 
ders:  the  deacon,  in  his  berth,  raised  up  on  his 
elbow,  and  ejaculated,  "Dew  tell!  ye  don't  say 
so!" 

"Tell  us  about  it,  captain,"  we  both  insisted. 
"  We'll  take  your  word  for  most  any  thing." 

"Well,  it  happened  about  five  years  ago.  It's 
goin'  on  now  eight  years  ago  that  my  father  died. 
He  sailed  out  of  Gloucester:  had  his  house  there; 
and,  after  he  died,  mother,  she  jest  kep'  on  in  the 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  283 

old  place.  I  went  down  at  first  to  see  her  fixed 
up  about  right,  and  after  that  I  went  now  and 
then,  and  now  and  then  I  sent  money.  Well,  it 
was  about  Thanksgiving  time,  as  it  is  now,  and 
I'd  ben  down  to  Boston,  and  was  coming  back 
pretty  well  loaded  with  the  things  I'd  been  buy 
ing  in  Boston  for  Thanksgiving  at  home, — -rai 
sins  and  sugar,  and  all  sorts  of  West  Ingy  goods, 
for  the  folks  in  Harpswell.  Well,  I  meant  to 
have  gone  down  to  Gloucester  to  see  mother; 
but  I  had  so  many  ways  to  run,  and  so  much  to 
do,  I  was  afraid  I  wouldn't  be  back  on  time;  and 
so  I  didn't  see  her. 

"Well,  we  was  driving  back  with  a  good  stiff 
breeze,  and  we'd  got  past  Cape  Ann,  and  I'd 
gone  down  and  turned  in,  and  was  fast  asleep  in 
my  berth.  It  was  past  midnight:  every  one  on 
the  schooner  asleep,  except  the  mate,  who  was  up 
on  the  watch.  I  was  sleepin'  as  sound  as  ever  I 
slept  in  my  life,  —  not  a  dream,  nor  a  feelin',  no 
more'n  if  I  had  been  dead,  —  when  suddenly  I 
waked  square  up.  My  eyes  flew  open  like  a 
spring,  with  my  mind  clear  and  wide  awake,  and, 


284  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE  STORIES. 

sure  as  I  ever  see  any  thing,  I  see  my  father 
standing  right  in  the  middle  of  the  cabin,  looking 
right  at  me.  I  rose  right  up  in  my  berth,  and 
says  I,  — 

"'Father,  is  that  you?' 

" '  Yes,'  says  he,  '  it  is  me.' 

"'Father,'  says  I,  'what  do  you  come  for?' 

"'Sam,'  says  he,  'do  you  go  right  back  to 
Gloucester,  and  take  your  mother  home  with  you, 
and  keep  her  there  as  long  as  she  lives.' 

"  And  says  I,  '  Father,  I  will.'  And  as  I  said 
this  he  faded  out  and  was  gone.  I  got  right  up, 
and  run  up  on  deck,  and  called  out,  '  'Bout  ship ! ' 
Mr.  More  —  he  was  my  mate  then  —  stared  at  me 
as  if  he  didn't  believe  his  ears.  ''Bout  ship!' 
says  I.  'I'm  going  to  Gloucester.' 

"  Well,  he  put  the  ship  about,  and  then  came 
to  me,  and  says,  'What  the  devil  does  this  mean? 
We're  way  past  Cape  Ann.  It's  forty  miles  right 
back  to  Gloucester.' 

'"Can't  help  it,'  I  said.  'To  Gloucester  I 
must  go  as  quick  as  wind  and  water  will  carry 
me.  I've  thought  of  matters  there  that  I  must 
attend  to,  no  matter  what  happens.' 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  285 

"Well,  Ben  More  and  I  were  good  friends 
always;  but  I  tell  you  all  that  day  he  watched 
me,  in  a  curious  kind  of  way,  to  see  if  I  weren't 
took  with  a  fever,  or  suthin ;  and  the  men,  they 
whispered  and  talked  among  themselves.  You 
see,  they  all  had  their  own  reasons  for  wanting 
to  be  back  to  Thanksgiving,  and  it  was  hard  on 
'em. 

"Well,  it  was  just  about  sun  up  we  got  into 
Gloucester,  and  I  went  ashore.  And  there  was 
mother,  looking  pretty  poorly,  jest  making  her 
fire,  and  getting  on  her  kettle.  When  she  saw 
me,  she  held  up  her  hands,  and  burst  out  cry 
ing,— 

"4Why,  Sam,  the  Lord  must  V  sent  you!  I've 
ben  sick  and  all  alone,  having  a  drefful  hard 
time,  and  I've  felt  as  if  I  couldn't  hold  out  much 
longer.' 

"'Well,'  says  I,  'mother,  pack  up  your  things, 
and  come  right  aboard  the  sloop;  for  I've  come 
to  take  you  home,  and  take  care  of  you:  so  put 
up  your  things.' 

"Well,  I  took  hold  and  helped  her,  and  we  put 


286  OLDTOWN  FIRESIDE   STORIES. 

things  together  lively,  and  packed  up  her  trunks, 
and  tied  up  the  bed  and  pillows  and  bedclothes, 
and  took  her  rocking-chair  and  bureau  and  ta 
bles  and  chairs  down  to  the  sloop.  And, when  I 
came  down,  bringing  her  and  all  her  things,  Ben 
More  seemed  to  see  what  I  was  after;  but  how 
or  why  the  idea  came  into  my  head  I  never  told 

/    him.     There's  things  that  a  man   feels  shy  of  tell- 
/ 

in',  and  I  didn't  want  to  talk  about  it. 

"  Well,  when  we  was  all  aboard,  the  wind 
/sprung  up  fair  and  steady,  and  we  went  on  at  a 
right  spanking  pace ;  and  the  fellows  said  the 
,  Harpswell  girls  had  got  hold  of  our  rope,  and 
Was  pulling  us  with  all  their  might;  and  we  came 
in  all  right  the  very  day  before  Thanksgiving. 
And  my  wife  was  as  glad  to  see  mother  as  if 
she'd  expected  her,  and  fixed  up  the  front-cham 
ber  for  her,  with  a  stove  in't,  and  plenty  of 
kindlings.  And  the  children  was  all  so  glad  to 
see  grandma,  and  we  had  the  best  kind  of  a 
Thanksgiving ! " 

"Well,"  said  I,  "nobody  could  say  there  wasn't 
any  use  in  that  spirit's  coming  (if  spirit  it  was)  : 
•it  had  a  most  practical  purpose." 


A  STUDENT'S  SEA  STORY.  287 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  "I've  been  all  round 
the  world,  in  all  sorts  of  countries,  seen  all  sorts 
of  queer,  strange  things,  and  seen  so  many  things 
that  I  jiever  could  have  believed  if  I  hadn't  seen 
'em,  that  I  never  say  I  won't  believe  this  or  that. 

—1 

If  I   see   a  thing   right   straight  under  my  eyes,  I 
don't   say  it   couldn't  'a'  ben  there    'cause  college-  I 
folks  say  there  ain't  no  such  things." 

"How  do  you  know  it  wasn't  all  a  dream?" 
said  my  chum. 

"How  do  I  know?  'Cause  I  was  broad  awake, 
and  I  gen'lly  know  when  I'm  awake  and  when 
I'm  asleep.  I  think  Mr.  More  found  me  pretty 
wide  awake." 

It  was  now  time  to  turn  in,  and  we  slept 
soundly  while  the  "Brilliant"  ploughed  her  way. 
By  daybreak  the  dome  of  the  State  House  was  in 
sight. 

"I've  settled  the  captain's  story,"  said  my  chum 
to  me.  "It  can  all  be  accounted  for  on  the 
theory  of  cerebral  hallucination." 

"All  right,"  said  I;  "but  it  answered  the  pur 
pose  beautifully  for  the  old  mother." 


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